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EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 


EQUAL   TO    THE 
OCCASION 


EDWARD   GARRETT 

AUTHOR  OF  '  BV  STII.!.  WATERS,'  '  AT  ANY  COST,' 
'one  new  year's  NIOHT,'  ETC.  ETC. 


FLEMING     H.    REVELL 


NEW  YORK 
12  BIBLE   HOUSE 


CHICAGO 
148  &  150  MADISON  ST. 


CONTENTS. 


o 

CHAP.  FAGB 

I.    SAINT   CECICILA-IN-THE-GARDEN,           ....  7 

II.  chrissy's  father, 24 

III.  NEXT   morning's   NEWS, 49 

IV.  THE   GREAT  METROPOLITAN   BANK,       ....  63 
V.    MR.    BENTLEY's   VERDICT, -75 

VI.    IN   THE  SKY-PARtOUR, 89 

VII.    HANS   KRINKEN, .Ill 

VIII.  chrissy's  holiday,    .        .        .        .        .        .        .118 

IX.    AN   OLD   PICTURE, I32 

X.  chrissy's  temptation, 146 

XI.    ten   POUNDS, 156 

Xll.    A   VENTURE, I70 

XIII.  ESTHER   GRAY, 186 

XIV.  AN    ANNIVERSARY, 202 

XV.    TWENTY-FIVE   POUNDS, 2l6 

XVI.    THE    TWO    SISTERS,          .            .            .           .~      .            .            .  227 

XVII.    A   LOAN   AND   A  LEGACY 236 

XVIII.    WHERE   THE   SERMON    ENDED, 245 

5 


2135S44 


Equal  to  the  Occasion  appeared   in  serial  form  in  'The  Quiver,* 
some  years  ago 


EQUAL    TO   THE    OCCASION. 


CHAPTER  I. 


SAINT  CECILIA-IN-THE-GARDEN. 


ONDON,  the  bust- 
ling and  the 
crowded,  has  yet 
retreats  and  soli- 
tudes peculiarly  its 
own. 

So  thought  the 
Rev.  Harold  Bent- 
ley,  as  he  stood  in 
readiness  for  week- 
night  service  in 
the  vestry  of  St. 
Cecilia-in-the-Gar- 
den,  in  the  heart  of  the  great  city. 

The  very  name  of  the  church  told  the  story  of  the 

7 


8  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

remote  and  far  different  days  in  which  it  had  been 
reared  and  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  God.  The 
ground  on  which  it  stood  had  been  part  of  the  great 
pleasure  garden  belonging  to  the  mansion  of  Sir 
Godfrey  Turner,  Knight.  When  his  young  wife 
Cecilia  died,  he  had  detached  this  plot  for  a  place  of 
family  sepulture,  hallowing  it  by  the  erection  of  the 
house  of  God,  and,  in  his  simple  old-world  piety, 
leaving  no  record  of  his  love  and  grief  except  the 
name  that  he  bestowed  upon  it.  At  least  so  ran  the 
local  legend,  borne  out  by  many  facts.  For  certainly 
the  church  had  been  built  on  Sir  Godfrey's  grounds, 
and  considerably  endowed  by  him ;  and  since  many 
later  generations  of  Turners  had  been  unmistakably 
buried  in  the  vaults  of  St.  Cecilia,  it  was  no  very 
great  stretch  of  imagination  to  believe  that  Sir 
Godfrey  and  his  spouse  themselves  rested  among  the 
few  unnamed  and  crumbling  sarcophagi.  Did  not 
the  ancient  church  plate  bear  the  inscription — 
'  Gifted  to  God  and  to  His  Church  of  Saint  Cecilia- 
in-the-Garden,  by  Godfrey  Turner,  Knight,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1570'?  Antiquarians  indeed  said 
that  there  had  been  an  ecclesiastical  foundation  on 
that  spot  many  centuries  earlier,  but  that  did  not 
necessarily  militate  against  the  legend  of  Sir  Godfrey. 
What  more  likely  than  that  the  church  lands  had 
been  thrown  into  his  demesne  at  the  Reformation  ? 
What  more   likely   than  that   when   Sir  Godfrey's 


SAINT  CECILIA-IN-THE-GARDEN.  9 

mind  turned  to  church-buildings,  it  should  revert  to 
a  spot  already  consecrated,  and  he  should  long  to 
devote  it  anew  to  a  purer  devotion  ?  The  parish- 
ioners of  St.  Cecilia-in-the-Garden  would  not  give 
up  the  story  of  the  good  knight  and  his  beloved 
lady. 

Tradition  further  said,  that  when  the  church  was 
built,  and  for  long  afterwards,  there  had  stood 
about  its  quadrangle  sixteen  trees,  four  on  each  side. 
An  old  man,  still  living,  remembered  another  old  man 
who  had  seen  these  in  their  glory  ;  and  certainly,  in 
going  about  the  damp  little  square,  one  could  see 
inequalities  in  the  paving  where  those  trees  ought  to 
have  been.  But  only  one  remained  now,  with  its 
poor  roots  closed  in  under  the  stones,  and  it  put 
forth  leaves  more  scantily  every  year,  though  Miss 
Griffin,  the  old  housekeeper  of  the  warehouse  at  the 
corner,  threw  buckets  of  water  round  its  trunk. 

The  Rev.  Harold  Bentley  was  an  entire  stranger 
in  the  place.  He  did  not  know  the  church  nor  its 
vicar.  He  had  never  been  in  the  neighbourhood  be- 
fore, and  did  not  even  know  much  of  London  at  all. 
The  vicar  of  St.  Cecilia's  was  now  taking  his  summer 
holiday.  A  mutual  friend  of  his  and  Mr.  Bentley's 
had  undertaken  the  duty,  and  had  fallen  ill,  and  so 
Mr.  Bentley,  passing  through  the  metropolis,  had 
taken  his  place  for  this  one  evening. 

The  Rev.  Harold  Bentley  was  not  a  young  man, 


lo  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

though  there  was  still  a  fire  in  his  eye,  and  a  vigour 
and  suppleness  about  his  commanding  figure,  which 
younger  men  might  have  envied.  But  there  were 
masses  of  silver  in  his  hair,  and  many  experiences, 
deep  and  sad  as  well  as  joyful,  had  written  out  their 
history  over  the  beauty  of  youth,  which  at  its  best  is 
but  a  fair  blank  page. 

His  own  cure  of  souls  lay  in  a  great  northern 
manufacturing  town  ;  there  he  had  laboured  for 
nearly  thirty  years,  and  there  he  was  now  surrounded 
by  a  generation  who  had  learned  from  their  parents' 
example  and  words  to  honour  and  to  love  him.  His 
church  there  was  big  and  bare,  guiltless  of  carved 
oak  or  glowing  glass,  but  filled  from  aisle  to  gallery, 
from  the  organ-loft  to  the  square  pew  where  his  own 
children  sat,  with  throbbing,  earnest  life.  His  con- 
gregation was  not  quite  an  ordinary  congregation ; 
he  had  gone  down  to  the  depths,  and  had  brought  up 
strange  treasures  for  his  King,  rough,  wild-looking 
colliers,  infidel  mill-hands,  and  weird,  haggard  women 
of  every  age.  His  hearers  were  old  men,  with 
emphasized  histories,  who  knew  the  truth  of  every 
word  he  said  ;  middle-aged  men,  acting  out  the 
drama  of  life,  shaping  the  politics  of  their  country 
and  their  town,  and  coming  to  him  hungering  and 
thirsting  for  the  great  principles  which  must  underh'e 
the  right  conduct  of  affairs  ;  young  men,  with  hands 
already  stretching  out  to  the  future. 


SAINT  CE CILIA-IN-  THE- GARDEN.         1 1 

A  vision  of  the  /aces  he  was  accustomed  to  meet 
from  his  pulpit  rose  before  his  mind's  eye  as  he 
opened  the  door  of  the  vestry  of  St.  Cecilia-in-the- 
Garden,  and  peeped  into  the  building. 

To  him,  the  church  seemed  empty  in  the  dusk. 
A  few  lamps  were  burning  dimly  about  the  reading- 
desk,  but  daylight  still  streamed  through  the  great 
windows,  which  for  the  most  part  were  filled  with 
small  clear  panes,  though  all  of  them  were  gemmed 
with  borders  and  shields  of  exquisite  stained  glass. 
The  altar,  with  its  sumptuous  carvings  of  flower  and 
angel,  lay  in  deep  shadow,  except  that  some  brass 
ornaments  and  the  crimson  velvet  altar-cloth  caught 
a  single  ray  of  light  from  one  of  the  pale  lamps. 
Upon  the  broad  desks  of  each  wide  high  pew  Mr. 
Bentley  could  see  great  Bibles  and  Prayer-Books, 
whose  first  owners  were  probably  among  those 
whose  eulogistic  memorial  tablets  were  supported 
against  the  walls  by  plump  cherubs  in  black  or 
white  marble.  Did  anybody  use  those  books  now  .'' 
And  would  they  ever  be  used  again  } 

As  Mr.  Bentley  looked  out,  the  church  bell 
ceased,  and  the  organ — its  player  entirely  hidden 
from  view — rolled  forth  its  deep,  melodious  welcome. 
He  saw  the  attentive  beadle,  gorgeous  in  crimson 
and  black,  advancing,  wand  in  hand,  to  conduct  him 
to  his  rostrum. 

But  where  was  the  congreijation  } 


12  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

That  was  the  question  the  clergyman  asked  while 
the  attendant  needlessly  adjusted  and  stroked  his 
hood  and  surplice. 

'They  are  all  here  that's  coming,  sir,'  said  the 
man.  '  We're  pretty  few  on  Sundays,  leave  alone 
week  nights.  No,  the  Miss  Millers  are  not  here  yet ; 
but  they're  sure  to  come.' 

*  But  I  don't  see  anybody,'  remonstrated  Mr. 
Bentley. 

'  Oh,  you  will  when  you're  in  the  pulpit,  sir,'  said 
the  beadle,  with  perfect  satisfaction.  '  There's  nine 
already,  without  the  Millers,  and  I've  never  known 
more  nor  twelve  for  years  back — not  even  when 
the  bishop  preached,'  he  added,  misunderstanding 
Mr.  Bentley's  concern.  '  They  are  mostly  old 
folks  and  children,  and  sits  low.  You'll  see  'em 
all,  sir,  when  you're  mounted,  and  they  are  on  their 
feet.' 

'  Well,  well,'  thought  Mr.  Bentley,  as  he  followed 
the  man,  '  this  is  disheartening  work.  The  parish 
may  have  changed  from  what  it  used  to  be,  but 
certainly  there  are  still  many  more  people  in  it  than 
seem  to  care  for  the  ministrations  of  the  Church.  I 
scarcely  know  how  I  shall  conduct  a  service  under 
circumstances  like  these.  When  one  thinks  of  the 
surging  multitudes  outside,  this  seems  labour  thrown 
away,  and  one  never  works  well  when  one  feels 
that' 


SAINT  CECJLIA-IN-THE-GARDEN.         13 

But  as  he  knelt  in  prayer,  his  mood  changed. 
The  very  text  which  he  had  chosen  for  that  even- 
ing's meditation  came  back  upon  his  own  heart  as 
by  the  whisper  of  a  Divine  voice — 

'  He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is 
faithful  also  in  much.' 

He  rose  from  his  knees,  and  looked  round.  There 
was  the  same  dusky,  empty  church,  but  he  could 
now  see  the  faces  of  his  scanty  auditory — poor  old 
women,  ancient  alms-men,  apple-faced  boys,  pro- 
bably sent  there  to  be  safely  out  of  the  way 
of  over  -  burdened  mothers.  The  two  belated 
worshippers  had  arrived  now,  and  they  did  not  add 
much  to  the  dignity  of  the  congregation,  though 
their  fresh  faces  and  bright  ribbons  gleamed  in  the 
sombre  old  place  like  flowers  thrown  down  in  a 
casket  of  ancient  garnishings.  They  were  only  two 
young  girls  of  sixteen  or  eighteen  years  old, 
daughters,  probably,  of  some  of  the  shopkeepers  in 
the  neighbourhood — mere  children  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Rev.  Harold  Bentley,  who  had  some  of  his  own 
of  about  the  same  age. 

But  the  transient  sense  of  disheartenment  had 
passed  from  the  good  man.  What  was  the  largest 
audience  but  a  congregation  of  units — and  here 
were  the  units  !  Some  word  of  his  might  carry 
a  thought  of  cheer  or  consolation  to  one  of  these 
old   folks  with    the    patient    faces   and    threadbare 


14  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

garments,  who  had  borne  poverty  in  the  midst  of 
wealth,  and  now  hoped  for  nothing  but  the  end. 

*  We  have  no  right  to  think  what  our  deeds 
may  effect,'  said  the  preacher,  disregarding  his 
notes,  and  speaking  straight  out  of  his  own  heart  to 
himself.  *  It  is  our  place  only  to  see  that  we  act 
rightly,  and  to  leave  the  issue  with  God.  None  but 
He  knows  which  is  greatest  and  which  least,  what 
shall  fade  and  what  shall  flourish.  One  man  may  be 
the  adviser  of  a  mighty  potentate,  whose  plans  an 
assassin's  hand  may  cut  short  to-morrow  ;  another 
may  be  the  teacher  of  a  little  child,  whose  future 
life  may  be  a  light  to  all  mankind.  The  broad 
cornfields  which  a  man  sows  may  lie  blasted  and 
bare,  while  the  little  acorn  he  dropped  unawares 
may  grow  into  a  great  sheltering  tree.  It  is  far 
more  to  be  good  than  to  do  good — because  being 
good  is  doing  good  perpetually,  while  attempting 
to  do  good  without  being  good  is  like  carrying 
bread  to  feed  the  hungry,  and  dropping  poison 
from  our  garments  as  we  pass  along. 

'The  poor  man  thinks  that  the  rich  man  has  a 
chance  of  doing  greater  things  than  he ;  the  rich 
man  thinks  his  poorer  brother  is  freer  for  the  service 
of  God.  The  young  think  their  time  will  come 
when  they  are  old  ;  the  old,  that  their  opportunities 
have  passed  away  with  their  youth.  But  there  is 
no  place  better  for  us  than  the  place  we  are  called 


SAINT  CECILFA-IN-THE-GARDEN.         15 

to  fill ;  no  work  worthier  than  the  work  we  are 
called  to  do.  God  made  us  what  we  are,  and  put 
us  in  our  places,  not  necessarily  to  stay  there,  but 
to  do  our  duty  there,  and  to  go  out  where  it  leads 
us.  We  have  not  to  think  what  we  might  do,  but 
what  we  can  do.  We  have  not  to  meet  to-morrow's 
trial,  but  to-day's  duty.  In  discharging  it,  we  do 
meet  to-morrow's  trial  in  the  only  way  in  which  it 
can  be  met — we  prepare  ourselves  and  all  about  us 
for  it.  "  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow ;  sufficient 
unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  are  words  often 
blasphemously  quoted  by  those  who  seek  to  find 
in  them  an  excuse  for  recklessness  and  indifference. 
They  are  really  the  utterance  of  a  wise  Providence, 
and  a  noble  forecasting.  They  say  simply,  "  Do  not 
think  of  your  next  step  ;  is  your  foot  sure  now  .'* " 

'  From  that  spirit  all  true  heroisms  spring ;  in 
that  spirit  all  good  work  is  done.  I  once  heard  an 
aged  woman  say  to  a  little  child,  "  If  you  look  at 
the  whole  length  of  your  seam,  you  will  never  get  it 
sewn :  look  only  at  the  little  bit  between  your 
thumb  and  finger."  There  was  a  philosophy  of 
life  in  those  humble  words.  It  is  not  godliness  to 
sit  and  dream  of  the  heights  and  glories  of  heaven  : 
it  is  godliness  to  advance  towards  them,  step  by 
step,  day  by  day.  The  truly  devout  mind  is  the 
"present  mind,"  which  knows  that  God  is  all  about 
it,  sanctifying  its  homely  surroundings,  and  which 


1 6  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

seeks  to  do  the  lowliest  duty  as  in  His  sight,  with 
all  one's  heart,  and  with  all  one's  mind,  and  with  all 
one's  strength.  There  is  a  story  told  in  Scotch 
history,  that  on  one  occasion  the  king,  Robert  the 
Bruce, — then  a  struggling  patriot, — sorely  pressed 
by  English  troops,  was  fighting  single-handed  with 
many  men.  If  he  had  paused  to  think  of  the 
future,  it  must  have  seemed  as  if  what  happened 
then  could  not  matter  much,  for  the  fortunes 
of  his  country  appeared  so  low  that  victory  to-day 
could  be  only  defeat  to  -  morrow.  Or,  if  he 
had  thought  about  himself,  he  might  have  judged, 
"  I  am  not  of  so  much  consequence  ;  I  may  as 
well  let  myself  be  slain  or  taken  prisoner  ;  it  is  no 
use  struggling  so  desperately."  But  he  thought 
only  of  the  present  and  its  duty ;  and  that  was, 
to  struggle.  And,  one  by  one,  his  foes  went  down, 
and  left  him  triumphant;  and  his  life,  passing 
safely  on,  was  the  life  of  the  man  who  saved  his 
nation  from  servitude.  And  it  would  have  made  a 
great  difference  to  us  all  here  if  Robert  the  Bruce 
had  not  been  found  faithful  on  his  occasion,  for  it 
was  through  his  brave  maintenance  of  his  country's 
freedom  that  Scotland  and  England  are  united 
to-day — not  by  conquest,  but  by  peaceful  union. 

'  Brethren,  there  is  one  ambition  which  can  be 
set  before  all  lives,  however  diverse.  It  is  that  each 
may  be  equal  to  his  occasion.     Then  that  thread  of 


SAINT  CECILIA-IN-THE-GARDEN.         i  7 

the  world's  history  which  is  spun  from  our  being 
will  be  sound  and  pure,  and  ready  for  any  future 
strain  that  may  come  upon  it. 

'And  remember,  in  being  faithful,  to  what  we 
should  be  faithful.  Not  to  our  own  wills  andf 
wishes;  not  to  the  judgments  of  others;  not  to| 
the  forms  and  fashions  of  the  world.  We  must  be 
faithful  to  God — faithful  to  His  law,  which  is  the' 
foundation  of  all  right.  His  law  is  everywhere — 
above  and  below  and  within  every  possible  action 
or  circumstance.  A  Christian  poet  has  told  us  that 
a  room  may  be  swept  according  to  God's  law.  His 
law  is  what  we  familiarly  call  "  the  right  way,"  "the 
right  thing  to  do."  But  sometimes  it  is  not  easy 
to  discover  what  His  law  in  a  matter  is.  It  dips 
out  of  our  sight,  as  it  were,  though  it  is  certainly 
there.  But  God  has  not  only  given  us  a  law ;  He 
has  also  given  us  a  Person — a  life  to  guide  us  along 
the  way  to  the  truth.  Are  you  in  any  doubt  as  to  ( 
what  you  should  do .'' — as  to  how  you  should  be 
faithful  ?  Pause  and  ask  yourselves,  "  What  would  ^ 
Jesus  do.''"  The  very  thought  of  Him — the  re- 
membrance that  He  calls  you  "  brother,"  "  sister ;  " 
that  He  did  not  count  it  loss  even  to  die  for  you — 
will  make  hard  things  easy,  and  dark  things  light  ; 
ay,  my  friends,  even  though  the  behest  may  come 
at  last,  "  Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will 
give  thee  a  crown  of  life." ' 


1 8  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

The  clergyman  sat  down ;  he  sat  in  the  pulpit, 
and  forgot  that  the  congregation  would  wait 
for  his  departure  before  they  stirred.  The 
beadle  fidgeted  uneasily  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit 
stairs. 

'  Mr.  Bentley  had  not  preached  the  sermon  he  had 
meant  to  preach.  He  had  spoken  entirely  to  him- 
self, from  beginning  to  end — preached  at  his  own 
faithlessness  and  discouragement — preached,  at  last, 
to  a  pain  and  an  anxiety  which  lay  rankling  in  his 
own  heart.  It  was  that  anxiety  which  had  brought 
him  up  to  London  at  this  season.  It  had  cost  him 
many  a  yearning  prayer  and  many  a  sleepless  night. 
And,  like  most  of  our  deep  pains,  it  was  closely 
interwoven  with  familiar  happiness  and  with  tender 
love  and  pride,  for  it  concerned  his  eldest  child,  his 
son  and  namesake,  Harold. 

When  the  people  saw  that  the  preacher  forgot  to 
come  down,  they  rose  silently  and  went  out,  one  by 
one,  waiting  to  speak  to  each  other  by  the  great 
carved  font  in  the  vestibule. 

*  That  was  a  fine  sermon,'  said  one  poor  old  crone 
to  another.  '  Many's  the  time  I've  heard  my  good 
man  that's  gone  say  the  very  same  things  in  his 
own  homely  way.  It  brought  it  all  back  to  me, 
and  makes  me  ashamed  of  the  mean  repining 
thoughts  I've  had  lately,  since  he  was  took.  "Faithful 
unto  death  "  he  was,  if  ever  man  was,  and  now  he's 


ISj 


SAINT  CECILIA-IN-THE-GARDEN.         21 

got  the  crown  of  life,  and  I  ought  to  be  proud  and 
happy,  thinking  on  it.' 

*Ay,  ay,'  said  another,  a  grey  old  maid,  Miss 
Griffin  by  name,  who  lived  alone  with  a  cat  in  a 
wilderness  of  offices  of  which  she  had  charge  ;  *  and 
I  couldn't  help  thinking  that  the  old  woman  who 
told  the  girl  to  look  at  the  bit  between  her  thumb 
and  finger  must  have  been  very  like  my  mother. 
It  was  just  like  her  good  common  sense.  I'm  afraid 
there's  no  such  women  now-a-days.  I'm  sorry  for 
the  present  generation  of  young  people  when  I 
think  of  it.' 

'You're  just  such  a  woman  yourself,'  said  an 
elderly  man,  with  a  green  shade  over  his  eyes.  *  I 
heard  the  doctor's  parlour-maid  repeating  some  of 
your  sayings  to  her  young  ladies  the  other  day,  and 
the  doctor's  mother  said  they  ought  to  be  printed  in 
gold.  It's  as  well  for  me  to  tell  you  so.  There's 
not  so  much  pleasant  truth  spoken  o'  people  in  this 
world  as  will  make  them  vain  to  hear  the  whole  of 
it  repeated.  And  one  might  as  well  repeat  a  good 
word  when  one  can,  for  one  never  knows  when  a 
body  wants  heartening  up.* 

'  I  say,  Jem,'  said  a  little  charity  boy  to  his 
comrade,  'that  was  grand  about  the  Scotch  king, 
wasn't  it  ?  I've  heard  my  uncle  say  that  it's  a  good 
breed  of  men  or  dogs  that  hold  on — it  isn't  the 
grand  start,  it's  the  pegging  away,  that  wins  any  race.' 


22  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

And  there  passed  out  a  woman,  who  lingered  to 
speak  to  nobody — a  woman  clad  in  coarse  dusty 
black,  with  a  face  dark  and  heavy.  She  went 
straight  forward,  with  a  sluggish  tread.  Last  week 
the  little  group  would  have  drawn  apart  at  her 
coming.  But  to-night,  after  that  sermon,  they  only 
moved  aside  to  let  her  pass,  and  the  grey  old  maid 
ventured  on  a  slight  grave  nod. 

*  Mother  used  to  say  it  was  not  for  us  to  judge, 
and  we  could  afford  to  pity  the  sinner  after  his  sins 
were  visited  on  him,'  said  Miss  Griffin  to  her  friends, 
as  if  in  apology  for  her  courtesy. 
I  And  as  the  lonely  woman  passed  into  the  twilight 
street,  she  repeated  softly  to  herself, — 
'  'Jesus  calls  me  sister.' 

The  young  Miller  girls  were  the  last  to  leave 
the  building,  and  they  had  youth's  cheery  nod  and 
smile  for  their  fellow-worshippers. 

'Fine  lassies,  both  of  them,'  commented  the  old 
man. 

'  But  give  me  the  younger  one,'  said  Miss  Griffin. 

'  You  never  know  what  young  things  will  be  till 
you  see  where  their  hearts  turn,'  observed  the 
widow.  *  I  don't  say  what  I  mightn't  have  turned 
out  if  my  old  man  hadn't  been  as  good  as  he  was.' 

'A  good  woman  gets  a  good  husband — or  none 
at  all,'  said  the  old  maid. 

'  There's   no   rule,'   rejoined   the   widow ;    '  but   a 


SAINT  CECILIA-IN-THE-GARDEN.         23 

good  woman  will  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job  if  it  | 
falls  to  her.  As  I  say  o'  my  washing,  you  may\ 
make  the  dirtiest  duds  a  bit  wholesomer,  but  there's ' 
some  that  won't  wash  white.' 

They  were  just  about  to  separate,  when  the 
youngest  Miss  Miller  stepped  back  to  the  group 
and  asked, — 

*  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  the  clergy- 
man who  preached  to-night  ? ' 

*  Ay,  Miss  Chrissy,'  answered  the  old  man.  '  The 
beadle  told  me  he's  the  Reverend  Harold  Bentley, 
and  he's  got  a  big  parish  in  the  Midland  counties.' 

'  Thank  you  very  much,'  said  the  girl,  and  tripped 
away. 

'  Blessings  on  her  pretty  face  1 '  cried  the  old 
widow.  *  Something  in  the  sermon  has  laid  hold  of 
her  too,  I  expect' 


CHAPTER  II. 


CHRISSY'S   FATHER. 


HE  Millers  lived  in  a  street  which 
was  almost  as  much  a  relic  of  old 
times  as  was  the  church  itself. 
,^^^^^  The    fine    old    houses    of  the 

i^^^MI^^B  parish — houses  which  had  once 
been  greatly  affected  by  aged 
nobles  and  gentle  dames  who 
had  sons  or  husbands  in  durance 
in  the  grim  Tower  hard  by — had 
long  since  fallen  to  dry  business  uses,  the  stately 
saloons  turned  into  board-rooms,  and  the  dainty 
china  closets  devoted  to  samples  of  grain  or  mineral. 
And  the  poor  mean  lanes  of  the  parish — lanes  in 
which  the  Great  Plague  had  rioted,  and  in  which 
conspirators  and  assassins  had  lurked — had  all 
entirely  disappeared  before  the  demands  of  com- 
merce, and  the  increasing  value  of  land. 

But  Shield  Street  was  something  between  these 

24 


CHRIS S  Y'S  FA  THEN.  2  5 

two,  and  the  security  which  generally  attends  a 
modest  medium  had  protected  it. 

Shield  Street  and  its  inhabitants  had  found  place 
in  many  parochial  records,  but  none  in  history. 
Nobody  of  particular  importance  had  ever  lived 
there.  Its  houses  had  been  built  for  the  purposes  of 
trade,  and  remained  to  their  original  uses.  They 
were  not  the  less  interesting  for  this  their  con- 
tinuance, only  the  more  clearly  indicating  the 
change  in  times  and  men,  telling,  as  they  did,  of 
days  when  stalwart  apprentices  watched  their 
masters'  wares,  exposed  in  open  booths,  and 
customers  could  be  expected  to  ascend  flights  of 
steps  to  make  slight  purchases.  A  picturesque 
street  was  Shield  Street,  with  many  pointed  gables 
of  varied  elevation,  for  some  of  its  houses  were  very 
small  and  lowly ;  while  others  had  considerable 
pretensions,  even  rising  to  back  and  front  staircases, 
though  for  some  generations  past  these  latter  had 
been  mostly  divided  into  two  occupancies. 

So  Shield  Street  still  remained,  but  under  a 
perpetual  threat  of  doom.  It  was  a  source  of  lively 
interest  to  its  inhabitants  when  that  doom  would 
fall — some  speculating  on  it  joyfully,  as  giving  in- 
creased value  to  their  leasehold  property ;  others 
deprecating  it,  as  if  it  would  destroy  all  that  they 
had, — their  last  hold  on  a  past  which  had  more 
brightness  for  them  than  any  future  could  have. 


26  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Under  its  impending  doom,  Shield  Street  had 
plainly  deteriorated.  One  does  not  renew  what  is 
likely  to  be  soon  destroyed.  Nor  do  new  beginnings 
start  where  continuance  is  not  probable.  The  old 
residents  might  not  leave  Shield  Street,  except 
when  they  died,  but  ,as  their  sons  got  married  they 
did  not  set  up  housekeeping  there.  What  would  be 
the  good  of  planning  fixtures,  and  measuring  carpets 
for  such  corners  and  such  floors  as  one  was  not 
likely  to  find  anywhere  else  ? 

Therefore,  every  year  took  something  from  the 
life  and  cheer  of  Shield  Street.  Even  though  the 
old  businesses  were  in  several  cases  maintained,  yet 
as  the  old  people  died  out,  the  upper  rooms  of  the 
houses  were  either  left  in  dusty  desuetude,  or  let  off 
as  offices  of  the  meaner  sort,  or  more  generally  as 
tenements. 

The  Millers'  residence  was  half  of  the  biggest 
block  in  the  whole  thoroughfare.  It  consisted 
apparently  of  two  tall  thin  old  houses,  and  it  was 
only  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  their  interior 
economy  which  revealed  that  they  were  really  but 
one :  that  where  the  Millers  lived  consisting  of  the 
old  shop,  the  best  rooms,  and  the  front  stairway, 
with  a  wonderful  dearth  of  special  kitchen  accom- 
modation ;  and  the  other  of  a  large  number  of 
small  chambers,  and  a  tortuous  staircase.  At  the 
back  these  houses  were  built  around  three  sides  of 


CHRISS  TS  FA  THER.  z  7 

a  small  quadrangle.  What  had  once  closed  in  the 
fourth  was  not  known,  being  only  indicated  on  old 
deeds  by  a  thin  drawn  line,  but  it  was  now  shut  in 
by  the  dead  back  wall  of  a  comparatively  modern 
edifice.  The  quadrangle  was  very  small  ;  standing 
on  its  pavement  and  looking  up,  one  seemed  to  be 
at  the  bottom  of  a  well ;  but  at  least  it  was  private, 
and  the  little  Millers  had  been  able  to  perch  on 
their  back  window-sills  and  chat  and  laugh  with 
the  Ackroyds,  their  next-door  neighbours, 
ft  In  whatever  relation  people  stand,  there  is  always 
Isomebody  who  takes  the  lead  and  is  looked  up 
to.  And  in  Shield  Street  this  was  Mr.  Alexander 
Miller,  bookseller  and  stationer. 

He  was  quite  an  elderly  man  now,  though  his 
daughters  were  still  girls.  He  had  married  rather 
late  in  life.  Most  of  his  neighbours  were  surrounded 
by  large  family  connections.  He  stood  alone.  Of 
his  history,  it  was  only  known  that  he  was  the  son 
of  a  race  of  Scotch  farmers,  and  that  not  another  of 
the  family  had  been  seen  in  London.  Despite  the 
isolation  of  his  position,  it  was  not  without  its 
advantages  to  a  man  of  high  character  and  strongly 
marked  good  qualities.  A  large  family  connection 
must  generally  contain  many  elements,  some  dis- 
cordant, and  the  common  people  sometimes  regard 
a  good  man  with  familiarity  because  his  second 
cousin    is    worthy    of    contempt.       There  are   few 


28  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

people,  too,  so  utterly  without  personal  weakness 
and  vanity  as  to  be  able  to  maintain  a  clear 
judgment  respecting  those  closely  associated  with 
themselves ;  and  while  the  suspension  of  such 
judgment  proves  partiality,  its  exercise  is  currently 
suspected  of  private  spite  or  harshness.     If  a  man 

^  'ignores  the  faults  of  his  own  kindred,  his  exhorta- 
1 1  tions  are  received  with  a  quiet  hint  to  look  at  home. 

(  If  he  looks  at  home  and  acknowledges  what  he  sees 
there,  he  is  judged  to  be  without  natural  affection. 
Mr.  Miller  could  be  criticized  only  through  his 
own  individuality,  and  it  was  not  very  open  to 
criticism. 

Further,  there  loomed  out  of  this  unknown 
history  of  Mr.  Miller's,  sundry  facts  apt  to  arrest  the 
imagination  of  those  who  are  yet  at  the  lowest 
degree  of  reverence — reverence  for  what  is  above 
them.  His  people  were  farmers,  had  farmed  the 
same  land  for  generations,  and  straightway,  in  his 
London  neighbours'  eyes,  the  bookseller's  spare 
figure  found  the  background  of  a  roomy  old 
mansion,  such  as  they  knew  in  the  counties,  with 
rich  meadows  undulating  about  it.  Such  a  man 
ought  to  be  an  example  :  it  was  no  wonder  he  was 
superior  ;  and  it  was  certainly  far  easier  for  them  to 
acknowledge  this  than  it  would  have  been  had  they 
known  the  facts  about  the  unhewn  stone  cottage, 
with  its  divot  thatch  and  its  peat-blackened  rafters. 


CHRISS  Y'S  FA  THEE.  2  9 

Also,  he  had  had  more  than  one  brother  at  the 
University  —  he  had  even  narrowly  missed  going 
there  himself.  No  wonder  he  was  clever  and 
dignified.  Nobody  else  but  the  vicar  and  the 
doctor  had  had  such  advantages.  The  Cockney 
fancy  was  filled  with  Oxford  and  Cambridge — with 
reports  of  boating  races  and  Commemoration  days. 
They  knew  little  of  the  antique  Scottish  student's 
attic,  and  the  weekly  kist  of  meal  and  butter  brought 
in  by  the  carrier. 

Familiarity  breeds  contempt  in  vulgar  minds. 
None  but  a  man's  equals  are  wgrthy  to  know  aU 
about  him.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Shakespeare 
himself  would  enjoy  so  supreme  a  fame  if  we  knew 
all  the  homely  ways  and  all  the  falls  and  weaknesses 
by  which  he  learned  the  facts  of  life  and  the  secrets 
of  humanity. 

There  was  nobody  now  in  the  world  who  knew  so 
much  of  the  real  man,  Alexander  Miller,  as  did  his 
youngest  daughter,  Christina.  Her  mother  had 
long  been  dead,  and  the  father  kept  alive  in  his 
daughters'  hearts  a  faint  but  sufficiently  pleasant 
memory  of  her  beauty  and  taste  and  dutifulness. 
Chrissy  had  once  asked  him  whether  she  had  been 
at  all  like  her  sisters — the  aunts  whom  she  knew. 
He  had  answered  gravely,  *  No,  not  in  the  least.' 
And  Chrissy  felt  secretly  glad  of  his  answer,  but 
she  saw  also  that  the  question  had  pained  him. 


30  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Mrs.  Miller's  relations  had  always  '  kept  an  eye ' 
on  the  widower  and  his  girls.  They  had  a  great 
respect  for  him — a  respect  somehow  a  little  mingled 
with  fear.  Therefore,  though  they  objected  to  a 
great  many  of  his  ways,  they  never  told  him  so,  and 
only  criticised  them  among  each  other.  What  was 
the  use  of  always  having  cold  dinners  on  Sunday  ? 
Was  it  not  ridiculously  strict  not  to  allow  his  girls 
to  remain  at  any  party  later  than  ten  o'clock  ?  And 
was  it  not  absurd  to  send  them  to  a  quiet  farmhouse 
for  their  yearly  country  holiday,  instead  of  to  some 
nice  lively  watering-place  ?  It  might  be  all  very 
well  for  him  to  know  what  books  they  read,  and  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  friends  they  made,  so 
long  as  it  could  last,  but  that  sort  of  thing  must 
come  to  an  end,  since  young  people  are  young 
people.  But,  after  all,  it  was  wonderful  what  a  well- 
ordered,  peaceful  home  that  was  in  Shield  Street, 
and  how  bright  the  girls  were.  Little  Chrissy  might 
turn  out  a  real  beauty !  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  brother-in-law  Alexander  was  a  wise  man, 
discounting  these  eccentricities,  and  that  he  would 
be  perfect  if  he  would  discontinue  them. 

It  was  Chrissy  who  had  sat  on  her  father's  knee 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  while  her  elder  sister  Helen 
elected  to  go  to  church  with  the  servant.  It 
was  from  his  lips  and  the  pictures  of  the  old  family 
Bible  that  Chrissy  learned  all  her  Scripture  history. 


CHRISSY'S  FATHER.  31 

It  was  in  the  gloaming  afterwards,  with  a  pleasant 
smell  of  toast  rising  from  the  kitchen,  that  she  used 
to  hear  all  about  the  old  Scotch  home,  and  the 
grandmother  spinning  among  her  maids,  and  the 
studious  uncle  who  could  never  be  trusted  to  mind 
the  cattle,  and  the  old  woman  who  lived  by  herself 
on  the  moor  and  was  not  afraid.  She  heard,  too, 
much  of  that  curious  lore,  in  which  untutored  fancy 
stretches  itself  into  the  Unseen — of  the  sands  which 
came  in  and  covered  the  arable  fields  that  a  wicked 
laird  took  from  his  brother's  orphan  girls,  of  the 
subterranean  passage  to  the  sea,  down  which  an 
ungodly  piper  went  in  bravado  and  came  back  no 
more,  though  his  pipes  are  still  to  be  heard  if  you 
put  your  ear  to  the  ground  when  the  wind  is  high 
enough ;  of  the  standing  stones  that  the  peasants 
could  not  count ;  of  the  ghost  in  the  abbey  ruins 
which  nobody  saw  save  those  who  would  not  believe 
in  it! 

She  heard,  too,  about  his  leaving  home,  and  how 
lonely  he  felt  when  he  came,  an  unknown  country 
boy,  to  *  serve  his  time,'  in  the  very  house  where  he 
now  ruled  as  master.  The  sensitive  little  girl  almost 
seemed  to  see  the  shadow  of  the  poor  yoUng  lad  in 
the  dim  rooms  ;  she  stood  awed  in  the  tiny  gable 
attic  where  he  had  kneeled  to  pray  '  for  those  at 
home,'  and  slept  to  dream  of  them.  She  had  seen  his 
poor  little   memorandum-books,   sewn   by  himself. 


32  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

containing  his  modest  expenditures  for  clothes,  and 
pew-rent  and  books — not  a  single  sixpence  sliding^ 
away  under  the  suspicious  heading  of  'sundries,',  ' 
though  many  was  the  respectable  amount  disposed 
of  under  the  heading  '  sent  home.'  Nay,  half- 
thinking  aloud,  he  had  confided  the  sterner  struggles 
of  later  life  to  the  reverent  ears  of  the  little  maiden, 
and  she  knew  that  his  marriage  had  come  so  late 
because  he  would  not  think  of  becoming  husband 
and  father  until  every  penny  was  paid  off  on  the 
business  he  had  bought,  and  it  was  fully  and  fairly 
his  own.  There  were  little  personal  traits  of  stern 
independence,  too — the  individual  points  of  a  strong 
type  of  character. 

'  They  said  I  ought  to  name  you  Robina,  my 
Chrissy,'  he  had  narrated,  'because  my  rich  old 
bachelor  master's  name  was  Robin,  and  he  gave  it  to 
be  generally  understood  that  he  would  not  forget 
his  name-children.  But  I  said  no ;  I'd  christened 
Helen  after  my  wife,  your  mother,  and  I  must  christen 
you  after  my  own  good  old  mother,  who  had  got 
her  new  name  in  Heaven  by  that  time,  and  that  if 
my  old  master  thought  of  remembering  us  at  all,  he 
should  set  more  store  on  my  honest  services  than 
on  a  compliment  that  might  easily  be  paid  from 
interested  motives.  And  he  did  not  remember  us, 
Chrissy.  But  neither  did  he  remember  those  who 
had  named  their  children  after  him,  and  so  they  have 


CHRISSrS  FATHER.  33 

in  their  families  a  standing  monument  of  their  own 
cupidity  and  of  a  fellow-creature's  faithlessness.  It's 
a  good  rule  never  to  do  for  the  sake  of  gain  what 
one  wouldn't  do  for  l£ve  or  duty,  Chrissy.  Then 
one  is  sure  of  one's  reward  at  once,  whether  or  not 
any  comes  after/ 

Was  it  any  marvel  that  Chrissy  loved  her  father 
with  the  deepest,  most  clinging  devotion?  Of 
course,  she  could  not  yet,  in  her  dawning  woman- 
hood, know  all  that  he  was  to  her.  It  is  only  time 
and  experience  which  can  teach  us  all  the  worth 
of  the  friends  and  guides  of  our  youth.  But  she 
already  knew  the  comfort — though  she  could  not 
yet  appreciate  the  preciousness  of  possessing  a  true 
ideal,  of  which  she  could  say,  when  her  heart  was 
stirred  by  noble  precept  or  story,  'That  is  what 
father  does  ;  that  is  just  like  father.' 

This  is  what  she  thought  as  she  walked  down 
Shield  Street  in  the  dusk  after  Mr.  Bentley's  sermon, 
and  saw  her  father  standing  within  the  gas-lit  shop, 
talking  to  somebody,  whom  she  could  not  see  for  an 
intervening  case. 

'Father  is  one  of  those  who  have  been  faithful 
in  all  things,'  she  said  to  herself. 

But,  as  she  drew  nearer,  she  was  struck  with 
something  in  the  expression  of  her  father's  face.  It 
was  a  look  she  had  never  seen  there  before.  Some- 
how it  made  her   recall   a  picture    she   had  lately 


34  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

seen,  where  a  traveller,  rowing  down  an  unknown 
river,  comes  suddenly  upon  rapids  whose  proximity 
he  did  not  suspect,  and  stands  up  and  calmly 
confronts  destruction.  Her  heart  stood  still  for  one 
moment,  and  then,  with  the  swift  elasticity  of  youth, 
bounded  on  again.  What  queer  fancies  she  took 
sometimes !  Helen  always  said  so.  How  Helen 
would  laugh  if  she  knew ! 

As  the  girls  entered  the  shop,  Mr.  Miller's  inter- 
locutor rose  from  his  stooping  posture.  It  was  Mr. 
Ackroyd,  the  next-door  neighbour.  It  was  Mr. 
Miller's  principle  to  be  friendly  towards  anybody 
who  entered  into  the  remotest  relation  with  him, 
but  it  takes  two  of  one  mind  to  be  friends,  and  that 
Mr.  Miller  and  Mr.  Ackroyd  were  not.  Mr.  Ackroyd 
was  an  architect,  and  had  done  some  clever  work  ; 
but  he  was  a  restless,  shiftless  man,  ever  on  the 
eve  of  some  great  success,  never  achieved.  He 
had  a  little  plaintive,  puling  wife,  whom  everybody 
vaguely  pitied  and  called  'poor  Mrs.  Ackroyd,' — 
they  scarcely  knew  why, — and  two  children,  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  of  about  the  same  ages  as  Helen  and 
Christina  Miller. 

'Well,  young  ladies,'  said  Mr.  Ackroyd,  turning 
towards  them,  and  speaking  in  rather  a  constrained 
tone, — *  well,  have  you  been  to  week-night  service  .-• 
and  did  you  get  a  good  sermon  ? ' 

'Much  the  same  as  usual,'  returned  Helen  Miller 


CHRJSSY'S  FATHER.  35 

lightly.  'All  sermons  are  good,  you  know,  Mr. 
Ackroyd.' 

Now  Chrissy  Miller  loved  her  elder  sister  dearly, 
and  generally  thought  her  the  sweetest  and  kindest 
of  girls.  But  when  Helen  came  in  contact  with 
strangers,  there  was  often  something  in  her  tone 
which  jarred  Chrissy.  She  did  not  seem  to  have  a 
mind  of  her  own,  but  to  give  back  the  mere  reflection 
of  what  passed  before  her  at  the  moment.  Even 
now,  she  had  answered  Mr.  Ackroyd  concerning 
sermons  with  the  same  levity  with  which  she  knew 
he  regarded  them.  Chrissy  glanced  at  her  father, 
lest  he  should  be  pained,  and  with  her  arm  twined 
through  Helen's,  made  gently  to  draw  her  on  through 
the  shop. 

But  Mr.  Ackroyd,  too,  was  taking  his  departure. 

'  Well,  Mr.  Miller,'  he  remarked,  *  I'll  say  good 
evening.  To-morrow  will  put  us  out  of  suspense,  so 
we  may  live  in  hope  for  one  more  night.  It  is  no 
use  troubling  ourselves  :  it  is  out  of  our  power  to  do 
anything.' 

*  Except  prepare  our  minds  and  foresee  our  paths,' 
said  Mr,  Miller  gravely. 

*  Oh,  well, — that  of  course.  Keep  up  your  spirits, 
though.  Things  never  turn  out  as  bad  as  they  look. 
There  are  a  hundred  ways  of  escaping  the  worst. 
Good-night,  young  ladies.' 

*  Helen,'    said    Chrissy,   when   they   had  reached 


36  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

their  little  bedroom,  and  she  stood,  smoothing  out 
her  bonnet  ribbons  with  thrifty  neatness, — '  Helen, 
something  has  happened  which  troubles  father. 
Did  you  not  hear  what  Mr.  Ackroyd  was.  saying  ? ' 

*  I  did  not  notice,'  replied  Helen,  who  was  still 
lingering  in  her  walking  gear  before  the  looking- 
glass,  trying  the  effect  of  sundry  bright  bows  against 
her  black  straw  hat.  *  I  did  not  notice.  Oh,  but  it 
will  not  be  anything  very  serious.  I  think  I  heard 
something  this  morning  about  water  having  got  into 
that  chest  of  old  books  that  father  was  getting  from 
Germany,  through  some  of  Mr.  Ackroyd's  friends 
there.' 

'  I  wonder  if  that  is  really  all,'  mused  Chrissy. 

*  Of  course  it  is,'  said  Helen,  with  cheerful  con- 
fidence. *  What  else  could  it  be  ?  Besides,  don't 
you  remember  what  Mr.  Ackroyd  said — that  things 
never  turn  out  so  bad  as  they  seem.  When  the 
books  have  been  spread  out  and  dried,  I  daresay 
they  will  be  little  the  worse.  I  am  sure  I  hope  they 
will  not,'  she  added,  with  a  stronger  shade  of  interest, 
*  for  I  want  to  coax  father  into  letting  us  have 
velveteens  for  our  autumn  dresses,  and  he  is  always 
so  strict  in  his  rule  that  the  first  thing  that  must  be 
done  after  any  loss  is  to  spend  no  money  unneces- 
sarily till  it  is  replaced.' 

*  A  very  good  rule,'  said  Chrissy. 

*  Oh  yes,  of  course,'  rejoined  Helen  rather  impa- 


CHRISSrS  FATHER.  37 

tiently,  'but  it  need  not  be  carried  out  so  promptly ; 
it  could  wait  a  little  while,  if  one  wants  anything 
very  particularly.' 

Chrissy  did  not  argue  that  point  with  her  sister. 
Nor  did  she  feel  quite  satisfied  that  Helen  was  right 
in  her  conviction  as  to  the  source  of  anxiety. 

She  stole  down-stairs  in  search  of  her  father.  He 
was  not  in  the  little  dining-room  behind  the  shop, 
where  at  that  hour  he  generally  rested  and  read  the 
newspapers,  or  examined  the  latest  ancient  treasure 
which  had  found  its  way  to  the  shelves  of  the  second- 
hand department  in  the  bookshop.  Nor  was  he  in 
the  narrow  yard,  where  he  kept  a  few  growing  plants 
which  he  made  it  his  own  daily  duty  to  water  and 
tend.     She  must  look  for  him  elsewhere. 

The  shop  was  closed  by  this  time,  and  the  gas 
nearly  turned  off.  Chrissy  could  but  barely  see  to 
thread  her  way  among  the  book-stands  and  cases  to 
the  little  sanctum,  called  rather  imposingly  *the 
counting-house.'  It  had  a  side  light  upon  the  shop, 
and  somebody  was  evidently  inside,  for  there  the  gas 
was  burning  fully.  The  lower  part  of  the  side  light 
was  blinded  with  ground  glass,  and  though  the  door 
had  two  panes  of  glass  in  its  upper  panel,  they  were 
above  Chrissy's  head.  She  hesitated  for  a  second, 
somebody  might  be  speaking  with  her  father  on 
business.  But  when  she  knocked,  her  father's  voice 
bade  her  '  come  in.' 


38  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

It  was  a  very  tiny  bare  sanctum  indeed  :  its  floor 
covered  with  waxcloth  ;  its  only  ornaments,  an  old- 
fashioned  barometer,  two  steel  engraved  portraits  in 
deep  maple  frames,  and  a  dignified-looking  clock 
perched  on  a  lean  bracket ;  its  furniture  was  equally 
scanty,  being  only  two  cane-bottomed  chairs,  a  desk, 
standing  on  a  plain  four-legged  table,  and  a  fine  old 
bureau,  now  open,  and  in  front  of  which  Mr.  Miller 
was  seated. 

That  room  had  stood  much  as  it  did  now  for  fully  a 
hundred  years,  the  furnishing  having  descended  from 
one  family  in  occupation  to  another.  It  certainly  had 
its  place  in  the  domestic  history  of  the  house.  Young 
wives  had  there  shyly  intruded  on  the  business  pre- 
occupations of  indulgent  husbands.  There,  too,  wills 
had  been  solemnly  signed  and  witnessed.  And  little 
children  had  stolen  in  to  gaze  and  wonder  at  the 
many  drawers  and  pigeon-holes  of  the  roomy  bureau. 
Even  as  Chrissy  now  entered  the  room,  her  eye  was 
caught  by  a  broken  toy  lying  in  one  of  the  recesses 
— a  relic  of  the  dead  child  brother,  whom  she 
scarcely  remembered. 

Three  or  four  of  the  bureau  drawers  were  standing 
open,  and  its  flap-desk  was  strewn  with  packets  of 
papers  tied  up  and  endorsed,  and  sundry  yellow 
deeds.  Her  father  had  his  pen  in  hand,  and  seemed 
totalling  up  certain  figures  in  a  worn  leathern-bound 
book,  which  Chrissy  had  only  seen  before  on  rare 


CHRISSrS  FATHER.  39 

occasions.     She  half  repented  of  interrupting  him, 
but  he  welcomed  her  pleasantly. 

*  Well,  little  woman,'  he  said  ;  '  do  you  think  that 
I  have  forgotten  my  supper  ?  Run  away ;  I'll  be 
with  you  in  a  minute — nay,  stop,  I'll  come  with  you 
at  once,  and  come  back  here  again  afterwards  1 ' 

But  Chrissy  had  her  arm  about  his  neck,  and  her 
cheek  against  his  forehead.  How  pale  it  was — and 
cold! 

*  Father,  dear,'  she  whispered,  '  something  is 
wrong,  is  it  not  ?  ' 

He  turned,  and,  laying  his  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
held  her  from  him,  and  gazed  into  her  sweet,  earnest 
eyes. 

'  How  did  my  little  woman  pick  that  up  ? '  he 
asked. 

'  From  what  Mr.  Ackroyd  said  as  he  went  out,* 
answered  Chrissy  simply. 

*  Well,  Chrissy,'  said  Mr.  Miller,  *  something  may 
be  wrong  ;  we  don't  know  yet.  We  shall  be  quite 
sure  about  it  in  good  time.' 

'But  won't  you  tell  me  what  it  may  be?'  she 
pleaded,  laying  her  head  again  on  his  shoulder. 

*  I  must  not,  Chrissy,'  returned  Mr.  Miller ;  *  I 
heard  the  report  as  a  secret.  I  could  trust  you  with 
my  own  secrets,  Chrissy,  but  we  must  not  trust  any- 
body with  secrets  confided  to  us  by  other  people. 
That  is  to  prove  ourselves  untrustworthy  altogether.* 


40  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  It  is  so  hard  not  to  know  what  to  expect !  For 
then  how  can  one  know  what  to  do  ?  '  sighed  Chrissy 
a  little  plaintively.  '  And  the  sermon  we  heard  to- 
night was  about  being  faithful  even  in  the  least 
things,  and  equal  to  every  occasion.' 

Much  as  that  sermon  had  impressed  poor  Chrissy, 
she  little  thought  what  was  soon  to  impress  it  on 
her  heart  for  ever  ! 

'  Chrissy,  Chrissy,'  said  her  father  kindly,  '  the 
present  occasion  calls  for  a  little  patience !  And 
that  is  the  sort  of  occasion  which  occurs  often  enough 
in  life.' 

'  Ah — patience — waiting,'  said  Chrissy  ;  '  but  then 
we  know  what  we  are  waiting  for.' 

*  Do  we  ? '  asked  her  father,  with  a  grave  smile. 
*  By  sick-beds,  do  we  know  whether  we  are  waiting 
for  life  or  death  ?  Do  people  know,  as  they  rear  their 
children,  whether  they  will  bring  home  pride  or 
humiliation  ?  When  they  pray  for  prodigals,  do  they 
know  whether  the  prodigals  will  return  while  they 
wait  at  the  gate,  or  only  after  they  are  in  the  grave  ? 
No,  no,  my  Chrissy,  God  generally  keeps  us  waiting 
in  the  dark.' 

'  With  nothing  to  do  ?  '  said  Chrissy,  whose  aroused 
moral  energies  were  now  longing  for  action,  with  the 
usual  sore  danger  of  running  to  waste,  and  expend- 
ing their  freshness  before  the  day  of  real  battle. 

'  No,  never,  Chrissy,'  answered  Mr.  Miller,  holding 


CBEISSY'S  FATHER.  41 

her  hand  in  his  with  a  firm  grasp,  which  she  seemed 
to  feel  —  oh,  how  often,  in  after  years !  '  Never. 
We  may  be  shut  up  in  a  dungeon,  or  tied  down  to  a 
paralytic's  bed,  but  our  loving  Father  never  leaves 
us  without  the  best  work  He  can  give  His  children, 
and  that  is  to  learn  by  heart  to  say,  "  Father,  prepare 
us  for  whatever  be  Thy  Holy  Will,  and  help  us  to 
fear  nothing  except  displeasing  Thee !" ' 

He  spoke  with  devout  fervour.  His  sympathetic 
little  daughter  felt  that  this  was  no  common  occasion. 
But  she  was  too  loyal  even  to  try  to  guess  what 
might  be  the  shadow  hanging  over  them.  Only, 
nestling  close  to  him,  she  whispered, — 

'  Nothing  can  matter  to  us  very  much,  father, 
while  we  have  each  other.' 

*  God  bless  my  little  Chrissy,'  he  said  softly ; 
*  nothing  can  matter  to  us  at  all  while  we  all  keep 
close  to  God,  for  then  we  can  never  lose  each  other. 
But  we  must  not  keep  Helen  waiting  for  her  supper,' 
he  said,  with  a  rather  forced  return  to  his  ordinary 
tone.  'And  my  Chrissy  must  not  trouble  herself 
too  much.  I  would  have  spared  her  suspense  if  I 
could,  for  I  know  it  is  not  the  sudden  blow,  however 
sharp,  which  makes  us  crouch,  so  much  as  the  sword 
hanging  over  us  !  But  life  generally  gives  us  both 
experiences.' 

He  lowered  the  gas  as  he  left  the  counting-house, 
but  did  not  put  it  out,  as  he  meant  to  return.     As 


42  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

they  groped  their  way  through  the  shop  he  struck 
his  foot  against  something. 

'  There,'  said  he  cheerily,  *  that's  the  box  of 
German  books  I  was  lamenting  over  this  morning — 
and  they  are  all  right,  after  all.  Though  the  bottom 
of  the  chest  was  soaked, — seemed,  in  fact,  to  have 
stood  in  water, — no  moisture  has  penetrated  it.' 

Chrissy  squeezed  the  arm  to  which  she  was  cling- 
ing. She  knew  he  mentioned  this  to  reassure  her 
with  the  thought  how  fears  could  seem  well-grounded, 
and  yet  prove  groundless. 

The  light  evening  meal  stood  prepared,  with 
Helen  ready  to  dispense  it.  The  Millers  never 
thought  of  cultivating  table  elegances.  But  thrift 
and  care  and  neatness  had  compassed  the  utmost  of 
art.  The  little  tablecloth,  well  preserved  by  Chrissy's 
delicate  darning,  was  of  pure  fine  damask,  a  relic  of 
a  former  century,  part  of  those  '  household  plenish- 
ings'  which  Mr.  Miller  had  bought  from  his  old 
bachelor  master  along  with  the  stock-in-trade  and 
the  goodwill  of  the  business.  The  crystal  came  from 
the  same  store,  and  was  of  heavy  old  cut-glass  ware, 
while  the  water-jug  was  a  veritable  'Uncle  Toby' 
beaker,  with  that  worthy  character  depicted  in  its 
upper  tier  of  ornamentation  in  the  enjoyment  of  his 
pipe  and  the  contemplation  of  the  parish  church  and 
the  windmill,  while  beneath  his  feet  horseman, hounds, 
and  hare  chased  each  other  round  the  base.     The 


CBHISSTS  FATHER.  43 

Millers  scarcely  knew  that  these  things  had  a  money 
value,  but  they  liked  and  treasured  them  for  their 
old  associations,  and  their  own  honest,  substantial 
prettiness.  An  artist  in  still  life  might  have  been 
tempted  to  paint  the  homely  table,  with  its  crisp 
brown  loaf,  its  freshly-cut  cheese,  and  its  dainty 
celery.  And  the  picture  would  have  told  its  own 
story  of  gentle  housewifery  and  of  lowly-lofty  family 
life. 

Helen  had  been  so  little  impressed  by  Mr. 
Ackroyd's  words,  and  the  conjectures  to  which 
they  had  given  rise,  that  she  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  matter-;  and  if  there  was  an  unusual 
gentle  gravity  in  the  demeanour  of  her  father  and 
sister,  certainly  she  did  not  notice  it.  She  chatted 
on  with  her  usual  bright  gaiety,  told  her  father  the 
anecdotes  out  of  the  sermon,  threw  out  a  hint  about 
the  velveteen  dresses,  and  finally  informed  him,  in 
a  tone  wherein  lay  some  suppressed  mockery,  that 
'  Esther  Gray  was  in  church  to-night ! ' 

At  sound  of  that  name  Mr.  Miller  looked  up 
quickly.  There  had  recently  been  a  tragedy  in  that 
parish,  a  tragedy  common  enough  in  London,  but 
sufficiently  rare  in  that  decent,  business-like  locality. 
A  story  of  riot  and  dissolute  living  had  ended  in 
a  death,  about  which  some  mystery  hung.  There 
were  those  who  thought  there  was  blood — madly 
shed,  perhaps  ;    but   still   blood — on    the  hands  of 


44  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Esther  Gray.  Small  wonder  that  her  decorous 
fellow-worshippers  had  shrunk  a  little  from  that 
heavy-faced  woman  in  the  dingy  black  garments  ! 

*  Was  she  indeed,  poor  soul  ? '  saW  the  good  man, 
'  I  remember  her  when,  if  she  had  seen  herself  as  she 
is  now,  she  would  have  asked,  "  Am  I  a  dog,  that  I 
should  become  this  thing?"     But  that  was  beforel 
she  knew  trouble.     That  found  out  her  weak  points,  i 
poor  body.     That  always  drives  us  up  or  down;'i\ 
and  Chrissy  thought  he  looked  wistfully  from  one 
daughter  to  the  other, 

*  People  talk  of  her  good  looks  once,'  remarked 
Helen  carelessly,  '  but  she  never  can  have  been 
pretty,' 

'She   was,   in    her    way,'    answered    Mr,    Miller 
reflectively,      '  You  might  not  think  a  flower  was  \ 
pretty,  if  you  did  not  see  it  till  it  had  been  trodden  ' 
under  foot  in  a  gutter.     When  Esther  Gray  was 
young  she  took  after  her  mother,  and  she  was  a 
good  woman,' 

*  Aunt  Kezia  says  she  was  pretty,  and  that  every- 
body said  so,*  observed  Helen  complacently.  '  But 
then,  as  Aunt  Kezzy  must  have  been  always  plain, 
I  fancied  she  only  repeated  the  favourable  verdict  to 
show  she  was  not  spiteful.' 

'  Nellie,'  said  her  father,  with  some  severity,  *  I 
fancy  there  is  as  much  malice  and  envy  in  girls 
who  think  themselves  pretty  as  there  can  possibly 


CHRISS  TS  FA  THER.  45 

be  in  any  who  know  they  are  plain.  I  think  some- 
times we  have  a  moment's  share  of  the  sight  God 
sees  with,  and  then  some  pretty  faces  seem  ugly 
to  us,  and  some  *ugly  faces  grow  sweet.  If  there  is 
repentance  in  Esther  Gray's  heart  to-night,  I  can 
well  understand  that  her  marred  face  is  fairer  in 
God's  sight  than  it  was  in  her  young  days,  when 
the  evil  spirit  was  springing  up  within  her.  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  stern  to  you,  Nellie,'  he  said,  with  a 
strange  softening,  'but  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you 
speak  lightly  of  fellow-creatures'  terrible  falls  and 
degradations.  To  scoff  at  sin  is  no  safeguard  from  1 
it;  it  is  rather  like  flouting  at  plague-stricken 
garments.' 

He  bade  his  daughters  good-night.  And  as  they 
went  off  to  their  room,  he  returned  to  the  counting- 
house,  and  Chrissy,  looking  back  from  the  stairs, 
saw  its  side  light  again  illumined  by  the  fully  turned- 
on  gas. 

It  was  rather  earlier  than  their  usual  retiring  hour, 
and  Christina,  who  did  not  feel  quite  able  to  rest, 
took  up  some  needlework.  But  Helen  said  she  was 
tired,  and,  going  straight  to  bed,  was  soon  sound 
asleep. 

Chrissy  stitched  on,  feeling  refreshed  as  the  night 
air,  coming  through  the  open  window,  grew  cooler 
and  cooler. 

All   was   profoundly   quiet;    till   suddenly  there 


46  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

was  a  sharp  sound,  which  Chrissy  knew  well  enough. 
It  was  the  closing  of  a  room  door  in  the  next  house. 
The  building  was  so  solid  and  substantial,  that 
though  the  two  houses  had  once  been  one,  sounds 
did  not  travel  from  one  to  the  other.  This  sound 
reached  her  through  the  Ackroyds'  open  window 
and  her  own. 

It  was  followed  up  by  a  sound  of  voices.  Mr. 
Ackroyd  was  speaking  gruffly  and  sternly,  and  Mrs. 
Ackroyd  retorted  in  high  petulant  tones,  interrupted 
by  hysterical  sobs.  Here  and  there  an  observation 
was  put  in  by  a  quiet  voice,  which  Chrissy  readily 
recognised  as  that  of  their  son,  James  Ackroyd. 

'  We  shall  know  all  about  it  to-morrow.  You  need 
not  display  your  selfishness  till  you  are  sure  it  is 
necessary,'  said  Mr.  Ackroyd's  harsh  tones. 

Chrissy  sprang  up.  This  had  forced  itself  upon 
her  hearing.  But  she  would  hear  no  more.  She 
closed  her  window,  and  went  back  to  her  work.  She 
would  sit  up  till  all  was  quiet,  and  open  the  casement 
again  before  she  retired  :  it  was  too  sultry  to  sleep 
with  it  closed. 

She  sat  so  for  fully  half  an  hour.  Then  she  felt 
the  irresistible  sleep  of  youth  stealing  over  her. 
Moving  softly,  not  to  waken  Helen,  she  drew  aside 
the  curtain  and  unhasped  the  window. 

The  girls'  bedroom  was  in  the  wing  of  the  building, 
consequently  it   faced  the  wing  of  the  Ackroyds' 


CHMISSY'S  FATHER.  47 

house.  The  window  directly  opposite  theirs  was 
that  of  James  Ackroyd's  room.  There  was  a  light 
there  now,  and,  standing  between  it  and  the  window, 
his  figure  was  thrown  on  the  blind.  He  was  leaning 
on  his  toilet-table,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 
Softly  as  Chrissy  had  moved,  he  heard  a  sound, 
raised  his  head,  and,  pushing  aside  the  blind,  thrust 
it  from  the  window. 

*  Chrissy,'  he  said  in  a  loud  whisper, — *  Chrissy 
Miller,  is  that  you?' 

*  Yes,  James,'  said  Chrissy  hurriedly.  *  It's  very 
late ;  good-night.' 

James  and  Chrissy  had  been  friends  from  their 
cradles,  and  she  did  not  usually  dismiss  him  so 
curtly.     But  the  boy  did  not  wonder  now. 

'You  know  all  about  it,  don't  you?'  he  asked, 
with  solemn  mystery.     *  Isn't  it  awful  ? ' 

'I  don't  know  anything.  Good-night,'  said 
Chrissy. 

*  Stop,  stop  ! '  cried  the  boy.  *  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  don't  know  there — is — something  ? ' 

'Yes,  I  do,'  Chrissy  admitted  reluctantly.  'But 
father  said  he  had  heard  it  as  a  secret,  and  would 
tell  me  when  I  ought  to  know.  I'll  wait  till  I  hear 
it  from  father,'  she  added  resolutely.  '  Good-night, 
James  ; '  and  the  curtain  dropped  inexorably. 

It  was  after  she  had  slept  some  time,  but  how  long 
she  could    not    say,  that    Chrissy   woke    suddenly. 


48  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

starting  up.  Despite  the  open  window,  the  room 
was  close  and  hot,  but  Chrissy  was  shivering,  and 
her  heart  went  pit-a-pat. 

But  all  was  still  as  death  itself. 

*  I  must  have  heard  father's  step  going  up-stairs,' 
she  reflected.  *  Or  perhaps  his  room  door  happened 
to  close  rather  noisily.  What  can  it  be  that  is 
wrong  ? '  as  the  thought  of  last  evening  came  back. 
'  Oh,  what  can  it  be  ?  I  wish  it  was  to-morrow ! 
How  miserable  poor  Jem's  shadow  looked  before  he 
saw  me !  I  must  just  say  father's  prayer  again, 
and  try  to  go  to  sleep.* 


CHAPTER  Til. 


NEXT  MORNING'S   NEWS. 


F  T  E  R  Chrissy's 
disturbed  night 
she  slept  heavily 
towards  morning, 
and  it  was  little 
wonder  that,  for 
once,  her  sister 
Helen  was  first 
astir. 

It  was  Helen's 
voice  carolling 
which  awakened 
her.  She  lay 
drowsy  for  a  moment,  with  that  strange  sense 
which  most  of  us  have  known,  that  a  burden  and 
a  shadow  are  coming  towards  us  with  our  full  con- 
sciousness. 

Then   she   started    up.      Yes !      There  was    that 
secret  the  Ackroyds  knew  already,  and  which  she 


50  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

was  to  know  in  due  time.  Would  it  be  due  time  to- 
day ?  Perhaps  it  might  not  be  so  very  much,  after 
all.  Only — there  was  that  strange  look  on  her  father's 
face,  and  the  shadow  of  James  Ackroyd's  bowed 
head  on  the  blind  !  Yet  she  ought  to  give  no  hint 
to  Helen.    And  so  Helen  must  go  on  singing. 

For  one  moment  the  merry  tune  and  the  gay 
•words  jarred  Chrissy  unbearably. 

*  Oh,  Helen,  do  be  quiet ! '  she  cried. 

Helen  stopped  instantly,  and  turned  upon  her  a 
face  of  innocent  amaze.  Chrissy's  heart  instantly 
smote  her. 

'  Is  this  how  I  bear  trouble,  even  while  it  is  far 
off? '  she  asked  herself.  '  Then  what  shall  I  do  if  it 
comes  ? ' 

Poor  child  !  she  was  inexperienced  in  life's  deeper 
depths,  and  so  how  was  she  to  know  that  the  hardest 
of  all  blows  to  bear  is  the  blow  not  yet  fallen,  and 
that  they  are  indeed  God's  heroes  who  not  only  sub- 
mit to  His  rod,  but  wait,  smiling,  till  He  smites  ? 

'  I  suppose  if  I  had  any  real  sorrow,'  she  mused, 
*  I  should  want  the  sun  to  grow  dark  and  the  flowers 
to  fade,  instead  of  feeling  sure  that  God  must  know 
all  is  well,  else  He  would  never  keep  the  sun  shining 
and  the  flowers  growing.  Don't  leave  off  singing, 
Helen  dear,'  she  added  aloud,  'only  sing  a  softer 
sort  of  tune.' 

'  What !    are  you  getting  like  the  old  lady  father 


NEXT  MORNING'S  NE  WS.  5 1 

tells  of,  who  said  "  she  aye  liked  sad  sangs  the  best ; 
they  garred  the  een  to  greet,  wi'out  wringing  the 
heart  "  ? '  answered  Helen,  with  an  admirable  imita- 
tion of  the  Scottish  dialect. 

Chrissy  smiled  at  Helen's  mimicry.  '  I  think  father 
himself  is  inclined  to  agree  with  her,'  she  said. 

*  Then  I'll  give  you  one  of  his  favourites,'  returned 
Helen,  and  straightway  the  clear  voice  was  lilting, — 

"  O  little  did  my  mither  ken, 
The  day  she  cradled  me, 
The  lands  that  I  should  travel  in. 
Or  the  death  that  I  should  dee."  ' 

But  presently  she  interrupted  herself,  to  exclaim, — 
'  How  quiet  the  house  seems  ! ' 

*  It's  quite  early,'  said  Chrissy. 

*Not  too  early  for  the  sweeping  up  to  begin  in  the 
shop,'  Helen  answered.  *  I  believe  that  new  shop- 
boy  is  lazy — I  said  he  would  be,  the  moment  I  looked 
at  him.  It  is  really  wonderful  to  see  the  patience 
father  has  with  people  most  unlike  himself.  I  never 
'would  have  hired  that  boy.' 

'  Father  took  him  because  of  his  imperfect 
German-English,'  said  Chrissy  ;  '  it  stood  in  his  way 
for  so  many  situations,  and  it  does  not  matter  so 
very  much  for  ours.' 

'  People  who  won't  suit  anybody  else  must  be 
always  made  to  suit  us,'  replied  Helen.  'That's 
father's  way,  and  I  believe  you  are  quite  as  bad.' 


52  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

*  Hans  Krinken  has  an  honest  face/  said  Chrissy. 
*  If  he  is  a  little  late  to-day,  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  an 
accident.' 

But  Hans  had  not  needed  her  excuses.  When 
she  left  her  room,  leaving  Helen  still  brushing  out 
the  coils  of  hair,  which  always  occupied  her  attention 
for  a  longer  time  than  her  sister  gave  to  her  whole 
toilet,  she  found  Hans  seated  in  the  passage, 
patiently  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  master  with  the 
keys  of  the  business  premises,  which  Mr.  Miller 
always  carried  to  his  own  room. 

*  Have  you  not  seen  my  father  yet,  Hans } ' 
Chrissy  asked,  surprised. 

'  No,  me-ess,'  answered  the  German  boy,  with  a 
ready,  good-humoured  smile.  *  Martha  the  maid,  she 
say  he  is  not  out  of  his  room  yet.' 

'  My  father  was  at  work  in  the  counting-house  till 
very  late  last  night,'  said  Chrissy. 

'  If  he  is  sleeping  still,  me-ess,'  said  the  kindly 
German  lad,  '  don't  disturb  him  yet  for  a  while.  I 
will  make  the  more  haste  when  he  shall  appear,  and 
the  shop  shall  be  no  later,' 

'  Thank  you  very  much,'  answered  Chrissy,  think- 
ing to  herself  how  her  father  made  people  like  him, 
and  so  turned  their  hired  service  into  a  labour  of 
love.  This  youth  had  only  been  in  his  employment 
for  a  month,  but  what  could  that  signify,  when  the 
good  Scotch  bookseller  already  knew  more  of  the 


NEXT  MO-RNING'S  NEWS.  53 

lad's  history,  of  his  past  trials  and  future  hopes,  than 
most  masters  know  concerning  those  who  have 
served  them  for  a  lifetime,  and  had  given  him  more 
counsel  and  thought  than  some  parents  bestow  on 
their  own  children  ?  Because  Mr.  Miller  had  a  living 
faith  in  eternity,  he  never  lost  a  moment  of  time. 
Because  he  looked  for  a  harvest,  he  scattered  good 
seed  broadcast. 

Chrissy  went  on  into  the  parlour,  where  Martha 
had  already  set  breakfast.  Martha  was  not  a  bad 
specimen  of  a  London  general  servant ;  she  was  a 
little  too  much  inclined  to  smart  caps  and  dirty 
aprons,  but  she  was  honest  and  willing,  had  had 
hard  experiences  in  former  places,  and,  finding  it 
possible  to  please  her  present  employers,  did  her 
utmost  to  do  so. 

'  The  master's  sleeping  sound  to-day,  miss,'  she 
said.  *  I've  knocked  at  his  door  twice,  and  got  no 
answer.' 

'  Poor  father  must  have  been  tired  out,'  thought 
Chrissy.  She  felt  a  sudden  fear  stir  in  her  heart, 
one  of  those  sudden  fears  which  great  love  often 
feels,  quite  causelessly.  She  wislied  Helen  would 
come  down.  She  wandered  back  to  the  passage,  to 
Hans  Krinken.  He  had  gone  to  the  side  door  by 
which  Martha  had  admitted  him,  for  he  did  not  live 
on  the  premises.  It  was  open,  and  he  was  standing 
there. 


54  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Chrissy  paused  in  the  passage,  looking  in  that 
direction.  There  was  not  much  astir  in  Shield 
Street  at  that  early  hour.  But  the  opposite  shop 
was  already  open.  It  was  a  very  unpretending 
establishment,  a  mere  slice  cut  off  a  big  leather  store. 
It  was  kept  by  the  old  widow  who  had  been  at  St. 
Cecilia's  the  evening  before,  and  in  it  she  sold  small 
haberdashery,  sweets,  and  newspapers.  As  Chrissy 
stood  there,  vaguely  looking  at  the  familiar  boxes 
and  bottles,  a  newspaper  boy  came  along  with  his 
daily  supply  under  his  arm,  and  his  paste-pot  and 
brush  in  his  hand.  He  paused  to  splash  over 
yesterday's  poster  and  daub  on  the  fresh  announce- 
ment sheet.  Then,  thrusting  half  a  dozen  papers 
into  the  shop,  he  went  whistling  on  his  way. 

Across  the  narrow  roadway,  Chrissy  could  read 
the  list : — *  Proceedings  in  Parliament.  Alleged 
Libel  by  a  Solicitor.  Report  of  the  Royal  Scientific 
Society.  Poaching  Affray  in  the  New  Forest. 
Stoppage  of  the  Great  Metropolitan  Bank.' 

'  Nothing  very  exciting  to-day,  Hans,'  she  said. 
'  No  great  battle,  no  great  crime,  no  great  speech.' 

Hans  did  not  answer.  Had  he  not  heard  her,  or 
only  not  understood  ?  She  stepped  a  little  forward, 
and  repeated  her  words. 

His  broad  German  face  looked  pale,  and  he 
turned  it  rather  from  her  than  towards  her,  as  he 
stammered, — 


NEXT  MORNING'S  NE  WS.  5  5 

'  That  will  be  one  great  failure,  Me-ess  Chrissy — 
that  bank.' 

Chrissy  knew  quite  enough  of  Hans'  antecedents 
to  feel  sure  that  no  financial  crash  was  likely  to 
touch  him  directly.  Yet  he  was  certainly  affected 
by  this  one.     She  asked  kindly, — 

*  Do  you  know  anybody  who  is  likely  to  be  con- 
cerned in  it  ? ' 

'I  am  afraid  that  I  do,  Me-ess  Chrissy,'  he  re- 
plied very  gravely,  and,  stepping  within  the  passage, 
shut  the  door. 

*We  must  call  the  master  again,'  he  said,  and 
Chrissy  followed  him  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
stood  there  listening,  while  he  ascended  and  knocked 
at  Mr.  Miller's  door. 

Hans  knocked  once — twice — thrice,  each  knock 
louder  than  before.  But  there  was  no  reply.  It 
seemed  to  Chrissy  as  if  the  dead  silence  was  some- 
thing which  could  be  heard.  She  repeated  to 
herself  that  phrase  '  the  dead  silence,'  and  her  heart 
stood  still. 

She  could  hear  Helen's  voice  in  their  room,  still 
singing.  — 

Hans  came  forward  to  the  banister. 

'  Me-ess  Chrissy,'  he  whispered, 

*  Yes,  Hans,'  said  Chrissy  faintly. 

*  Does  the  master  keep  his  key  turned  ?  Don't 
you  think  you  should  go  in  ?  ' 


56  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  I  must.  Oh,  Hans ! '  The  girl  waited  with  her 
hand  upon  the  door. 

'  The  good  God  go  with  you,  Me-ess  Chrissy,' 
said  the  young  German,  as  she  crept  into  the  room. 
He  stole  in  behind  her ;  for  his  sympathetic  heart 
told  him  what  she  would  find. 

*  He  is  not  dead  ! '  she  cried.  '  Oh,  Hans,  say  that 
father  is  not  dead  ! ' 

'  He  is  with  the  good  God,'  said  Hans  solemnly. 

The  passage  from  one  world  to  the  other  must 
have  been  very  swift  and  smooth.  The  room  was  in 
its  usual  simple  order.  The  unruffled  couch  bore 
witness  to  no  last  struggle.  On  a  little  table  at  the 
head  of  the  bed  stood  the  extinguished  candle,  and 
beside  it  lay  an  open  Bible. 

For  a  moment  Chrissy  stood  like  one  transfixed. 
Her  father's  face  was  turned  towards  her.  He  could 
not  be  dead  !  For  were  not  his  lips  parting  to  wel- 
come her  with  the  same  wistful  smile  he  had  turned 
on  her  as  she  left  him  last  night?  And  yet — and 
yet — he  did  not  see  her,  for  his  eyes  were  closed. 
He  had  passed  away  in  sleep. 

With  one  low  cry,  she  rushed  to  the  bed,  and 
buried  her  face  beside  him.  Only  a  few  weeks 
before  she  had  kneeled  so  beside  a  living  father, 
and  then  a  kind  hand  had  been  raised  to  caress 
his  Chrissy's  curls.  That  hand  lay  still  and 
cold   now.     That    slight   memory — that    little    fact 


NEXT  MORNING  S  NE  WS.  5  7 

brought  home  the  whole  awful  truth  to  Chrissy's 
heart. 

'  Oh,  father,  father ! '  Never  again.  She  may 
search  earth's  remotest  region,  but  she  shall  never 
find  him.  She  may  live  till  her  hair  is  as  white  as 
his  was,  till  her  steps  and  her  senses  fail,  as  his  had 
not  failed,  but  she  shall  never  meet  him  in  any 
path,  by  any  fireside. 

Sharp  swords  pierce  the  girl's  heart  as  she  kneels 
there.  Old  words  sound  in  her  ears,  fraught  with  a 
new  meaning  they  can  never  lose  again. 

A  voice  says, — 

'  He  is  not  here,  but  he  is  risen.' 

It  is  not  the  less  an  angel's  message  to  Chrissy 
because  it  is  homely  Hans  who  delivers  it.  As 
her  own  agony  yearns  out  into  the  unknown,  she 
feels  a  great  wave  of  love  rush  thence  to  meet 
it.  Her  father  was  longing  to  reach  her,  even  as 
she  was  longing  to  reach  him.  Only  he  stood 
higher  now.  He  must  not  return  to  her.  She  must 
go  to  him. 

Kneeling  there,  she  saw  as  in  a  vision  that  the 
light  of  Faith  can  only  illumine  the  path  of  duty. 
Walking  with  God,  we  walk  also  with  those  whose 
life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  Him. 

Henceforth,  Chrissy  knew  what  St.  Paul  meant 
when  he  said  that  whether  he  had  been  in  the  body 
or  out  of  the  body,  he  could  not  tell. 


58  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

A  door  in  the  house  closed — a  light  step  ran  on 
the  stair.     Helen  was  coming  down. 

Chrissy  sprang  to  her  feet.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
the  glory  of  the  vision  departed,  while  the  blow 
beneath  which  she  had  seen  it  remained. 

Only  she  asked,  '  What  can  I  do  ? ' 

And  when  a  vision  ends  so,  it  has  come  from  God, 
and  has  fulfilled  its  mission. 

*  I  must  stop  Helen,'  was  the  quick  resolve ;  and 
she  darted  from  the  room.  Her  sister  was  within  a 
few  paces  of  its  open  door,  but  the  sight  of  Chrissy's 
face  arrested  her  instantly. 

'  Father  is  ill  ? '  said  Helen,  with  whitening  lips. 

'  Father  has  been  ill,'  answered  Chrissy  solemnly. 
'  Oh,  Helen,  Helen  !  bear  it  bravely — be  good — and 
strong — for  father's  sake.' 

*  He  is  not  dead  ? '  gasped  the  elder  girl,  making  a 
movement  to  pass  Chrissy.  But  the  younger  sister 
held  her  firmly. 

'  God  called  him  very  gently,  Nellie,'  she  said. 
'  Don't  you  remember  he  always  said  he  could  not 
respond  to  the  prayer  against  sudden  death  ?  Oh, 
Nellie,  Nellie ! ' 

Helen  burst  into  wild  lamentations.  She  could  not 
believe  that  her  father  was  really — really  dead.  He 
had  only  fainted — he  was  only  in  a  fit — and  they  were 
letting  him  die  !  Adoctor  must  be  sent  for.  Somebody 
must  be  sent  for.     Anybody — oh  yes,  and  quickly  ! 


NEXT  MORNINGS  NE  WS.  59 

'  Somebody  must  be  sent  for,  certainly ! '  said  pale 
Chrissy,  standing  by  her  sister's  side  in  the  parlour, 
where  she  had  led  her.  That  frantic  uncontrolled 
woe  seemed  like  a  profanation  of  the  stately  calm  of 
the  death-chamber. 

'  There  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ackroyd  only  next 
door,'  cried  Helen. 

'  Not  the  Ackroyds,'  said  Hans  Krinken  im- 
pulsively. 

*  Not  the  Ackroyds,'  echoed  Chrissy. 

And  then  there  returned  upon  her  the  thought  of 
the  tidings  her  father  was  to  tell  her  in  due  time. 
When  would  be  the  due  time  now,  and  who  would 
tell  her  in  his  stead?  Oh,  how  thankful  she  was 
that  she  had  refused  to  snatch  from  James  Ackroyd 
what  her  father  had  withheld,  and  so  had  obeyed  his 
last  wish ! 

*  Aunt  Kezia  is  so  far  away,'  cried  Helen ;  '  and 
who  is  to  go  for  anybody  ? ' 

*  There  is  Hans,'  said  Chrissy. 

*  Hans  1 '  repeated  Helen.  '  You  and  I  cannot  be 
left  alone  with  Martha  and  father,  now  he  is ' — 

She  paused  before  the  dreadful  word,  Helen  had 
that  sheer  physical  shrinking  from  death  commonly 
found  in  those  whose  sensuous  perceptions  are 
stronger  than  their  spiritual  intuitions. 

*  I  will  go  myself,'  said  Chrissy. 

'You !     Could  you  leave  me  alone  with  strangers, 


6o  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

even  if  you  have  no  feeling  for  yourself?'  asked 
Helen.  '  No ;  Martha  must  go.  You  must  tell 
where  she  is  to  go,  and  whom  she  is  to  fetch.  I 
can  think  of  nothing ;  my  head  is  whirling  round 
with  the  shock.' 

'There  is  Miss  Griffin  at  the  warehouse,'  said 
Chrissy  hesitatingly.  *  She  is  kind  and  good,  and 
father  liked  her.  Be  sure  you  don't  startle  her, 
Martha.     Don't  be  more  sudden  than  you  can  help.' 

Chrissy  and  Hans  followed  the  weeping  Martha 
to  the  door. 

*  Did  the  master  have  the  disease  of  the  heart, 
me-ess  ? '  whispered  Hans  timidly. 

'I  never  knew  of  it,  Hans,'  Chrissy  answered, 
pausing.  '  I  know  he  heard  something  last  night 
which  troubled  me.     I  don't  know  what  it  was.' 

'I  think  I  do,  me-ess,'  said  Hans  in  a  very  low 
whisper. 

Chrissy  shook  her  head.  '  I  don't  think  so,'  she 
replied ;  '  he  heard  it  quite  late,  just  as  the  shop  was 
being  shut' 

'And  it  was  Herr  Ackroyd  who  did  whisper  the 
bad  news,'  Hans  went  on.     '  Is  not  that  so  } ' 

*I  think  so,'  said  Chrissy,  astonished.  'James 
Ackroyd  offered  to  tell  me  what  it  was,  but  I  said 
I'd  wait  till  father  told  me  himself.' 

*  Just  step  you  this  way  for  one  minute,'  requested 
the  German  boy,  stealing  back  to  the  street-door. 


NEXT  MORNINGS  NE  WS.  6 1 

which  he  opened  gently,  and  held  a  little  ajar, 
indicating  to  Chrissy  to  peer  through  the  crevice. 

Like  one  stunned,  or  in  a  dream,  she  obeyed.  She 
could  see  nothing  but  the  little  haberdasher's  shop, 
with  the  news-board  standing  against  its  front. 

'  Read  the  last  of  the  lines,'  whispered  Hans. 
*  Now  you  see  what  the  master  would  have  told  you 
to-day.     And  you  know  it  first  by  no  other  voice.' 

It  was  not  then  that  Chrissy  appreciated  the  deli- 
cate consideration  of  the  homely  lad. 

'Stoppage  of  the  Great  Metropolitan  Bank,'  she 
repeated  mechanically.  'Why,  what  could  that 
have  to  do  with  father  "i ' 

'  I  know  he  owned  a  share  in  it,'  said  Hans. 

'  Only  one  share  ! '  echoed  innocent  Chrissy  ;  '  that 
could  not  have  mattered  so  much.  I  should  like  to 
think  dear  father  died  quite  naturally.  It  would  be 
terrible  to  feel  that  something  had  killed  him,' 

*  How  would  it  feel  if  it  was  somebody  ? '  asked  the 
German  boy  of  himself;  and  there  flashed  a  fierce 
gleam  through  his  soft  blue  eyes,  and  he  clenched 
his  teeth  sternly. 

*  I'm  so  grieved  that  father  should  have  had  any- 
thing to  trouble  him  just  at  the  last,'  sighed  poor 
Chrissy.  *  But  really,  if  that  was  all,  it  could  not 
have  been  very  much  ! ' 

Hans  Krinken  said  nothing.  '  The  vessel_can^but 
hold  its   measure,'   he    philosophized.     'When   the 


62  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

heart  is  filled  with  sorrow,  then  there  is  no  room  for 
trouble.' 

'  Chrissy,  Chrissy  I '  wailed  Helen's  voice  ;  *  how 
can  you  leave  me  so  long  alone  ?  You  are  thinking 
of  nobody  but  yourself.  I  wash  you  would  make 
me  a  little  tea.  What  Martha  had  prepared  for 
breakfast  is  quite  cold.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  faint. 
You  know  I  am  not  so  strong  as  you  are.' 

'  Poor  Nellie  ! '  said  Chrissy,  quite  compunctious. 
*  I  really  did  forget  you  were  alone  ! ' 

She  went  to  lift  the  kettle  on  to  the  hob.  Why 
was  it  so  heavy  ?  Hans  saw  her  fruitless  effort,  and 
he  understood  it,  and  came  to  her  help. 

*  I  wish  she  would  shed  one  little  tear,'  he  thought, 
and  cast  about  in  his  mind  how  he  could  strike  one  of 
those  minor  chords  of  feeling  to  which  tears  respond. 
But  before  he  had  hit  on  any  kindly  device,  there  was  a 
muffled  knock  at  the  door,  and  he  hurried  away  to  ad- 
mit Martha,  Miss  Griffin,  and  a  tall  grave  gentleman 
whom  he  did  not  know.  Mr.  Ackroyd  had  seen  the 
group  from  his  own  windows,  and  was  following  hard 
on  their  steps.  Before  Hans  could  get  the  door  shut 
he  was  upon  them,  asking  them  what  was  the  matter. 

It  was  Hans  who  answered  him.  And  Hans, 
who,  under  the  strong  feeling  of  that  moment,  had 
forgotten  all  his  English,  made  answer  in  German. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well  for  Mr.  Ackroyd's  comfort 
that  he  did  not  understand  that  language. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  GREAT  METROPOLITAN   BANK. 


HE  tall  grave  stranger  was  no 
other  than  the  Rev.  Harold 
Bentley. 

Miss  Griffin  and  Martha  had 
met  him  as  they  were  hurrying 
from  the  warehouse  to  Shield 
Street,  and  Miss  Griffin,  know- 
ing, of  course,  who  he  was,  had 
stopped  him  and  pressed  him 
into  the  service  of  the  stricken  family.  It  did  not 
signify  in  the  least  to  the  good  old  maid  that  he 
was  not  the  parish  clergyman,  but  only  a  stray 
visitor.  She  wisely  regarded  clergymen  as  placed 
in  the  battle  of  life,  like  the  Red  Cross  people  in  a 
war  where  each  might  have  work  specially  his  own, 
but  all  are  bound  to  combat  sin  and  to  succour 
sorrow  wherever  they  may  be  found. 

She  did  not  count  amiss  on   Mr.   Bentley.     He 

63 


64  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

listened,  and  followed  her  readily.  He  sought  no 
excuse  in  a  blow  which  had  fallen  on  himself  that 
very  morning.  By  the  crosses  sent  to  a  devout  and 
disciplined  soul  it  fences  itself  into  the  path  of  duty, 
and  not  out  of  it.  '^ 

Martha  was  again  despatched  in  quest  of  the 
family  doctor.  And  it  was  either  when  she  went  in 
search  of  that  gentleman,  or  when  she  returned  with 
him,  that  Mr.  Ackroyd  gained  admittance  to  the 
house,  though  he  kept  in  the  background  till  the 
doctor  and  the  clergyman  came  out  from  their 
solemn  visit  to  the  chamber  of  death. 

There  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  cause  of  the  death. 
The  doctor  had  known  that  Mr.  Miller  had  a  deep- 
seated  heart-disease,  and  had  warned  him  against 
agitation  of  any  sort,  especially  that  of  worry  or 
anxiety. 

'And  despite  the  disease,  a  quiet-minded,  brave- 
hearted  man  like  him  should  have  lived  out  all  his 
days,'  said  the  doctor.  '  Something  must  surely 
have  upset  him  terribly.' 

'  He  heard  some  sort  of  bad  news  last  night,' 
explained  Chrissy,  raising  her  strained,  white  face. 
'  And  Hans  Krinken — that's  the  shop-boy — says 
he  believes  my  father  had  one  share  in  the  Great 
Metropolitan  Bank  which  is  stopped  to-day.' 

The  doctor  and  Mr.  Bentley  looked  at  each  other, 
with  a  slight  ominous  shake  of  the  head.     They 


THE  GREAT  METROPOLITAN  BANK.     65 

knew  the  full  import  of  poor  Chrissy's  words,  which 
she  did  not  know  herself 

'Terrible  affair,  this  of  the  bank,'  said  Mr. 
Ackroyd.  *  A  great  many  people  will  be  involved 
in  it.     I  am  afraid  I'm  not  quite  clear  myself 

Everybody  looked  towards  him.  It  was  the  first 
time  his  presence  had  been  remarked. 

*  It  is  a  ruin  that  reaches  every  way,'  observed 
Mr.  Bentley.  *My  eldest  son  held  office  in  the 
bank,  and  is  of  course  thrown  out  of  his  appoint- 
ment by  its  stoppage.' 

'  It  does  not  seem  fair  when  a  man  like  Mr.  Miller 
gets  drawn  into  these  financial  whirlpools,'  said  the 
doctor.  'His  life  was  one  of  diligent  work  and 
careful  saving,  and  it  seems  hard  when  one's 
prudence  and  economy  lead  up  to  one's  ruin.  And 
these  poor  girls ! '  he  added  in  an  undertone,  glanc- 
ing towards  Helen  and  Chrissy. 

'  Come  away  with  me,  dears,'  said  kindly  Miss 
Griffin,  putting  her  hand  through  Helen's  arm. 
'Come  away  to  your  own  room,  and  keep  quiet 
there.  Your  aunt  will  be  here  presently ;  I've  sent 
Martha  off  for  her  next.  There's  none  of  your 
papa's  own  folk  nigh  at  hand,  is  there  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  Chrissy  quietly.  *  My  father's  people 
were  very  few,  and  they  are  scattered  far  now. 
Aunt  Kezia  will  do.' 

And  at  the  door  of  the  room  she  turned  back  to 


66  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

say,    'Ought   not  the   shop   to    be    unlocked   and 
opened  ? ' 

*  Oh,  Chrissy ! '  cried  Helen  ;  '  how  can  you  think 
of  that  ?     What  can  that  matter  ? 

'  It  was  father's  business,'  she  answered. 

'She  is  quite  right,'  said  Mr.  Bentley  quickly. 
He  understood  her  feeling,  that  the  matters  to  which 
her  father  had  given  his  labour  and  his  skill  should 
not  be  thrust  aside  as  if  they  were  now  nobody's 
affair. 

'  I  know  where  father  kept  the  keys,'  she  remarked, 
and  went  off  for  them. 

Nobody  knew — at  any  rate  nobody  reflected — 
that  her  errand  took  her  face  to  face  with  her  dead 
father,  that  it  involved  her  disturbing  the  garments 
he  had  doffed  and  laid  aside  for  the  last  time  on  the 
previous  night.  Love,  the  gentlest  teacher,  ever 
sets  the  hardest  tasks. 

But  Miss  Griffin  and  Hans  Krinken,  standing 
aside  on  a  landing,  preparing  sundry  little  cordials 
and  comforts  for  Helen,  saw  Chrissy  pass  out  of  her 
father's  room  with  the  keys  in  her  hand  and  go 
straight  to  the  dining-room. 

*  Everything  is  to  be  done  to  coddle  Miss  Helen, 
and  Miss  Chrissy  is  to  be  left  to  do  the  work,'  said 
Hans  reproachfully,  'And  it  is  she  who  most 
wants  the  comfort,'  he  added. 

*Ay,  lad,'  said  the  old  lady;  'd'ye  think  I  don't 


THE  GREAT  METROPOLITAN  BANK.    67 

know  that  far  better  than  the  likes  of  you  can  tell 
me  ?  But  it's  easy  giving  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  couch, 
and  a  few  strokes  and  pats — what  Miss  Helen  wants. 
But  Miss  Chrissy  wants  God  and  all  His  promises, 
and  who  can  give  her  those  but  Himself?  The 
most  and  the  best  we  can  do  for  her  is  to  leave 
her  the  work.* 

While  Chrissy  had  gone  away,  the  three  gentle- 
men had  held  a  slight  conference. 

'Mr.  Miller  has  had  a  good  business,  and  has 
always  lived  very  quietly,'  said  Mr.  Ackroyd,  with  a 
rather  forced  air  of  mere  neighbourly  interest.  '  He 
must  have  been  a  fairly  wealthy  man  in  his  station. 
The  loss  involved  by  one  share  cannot  mean  very 
much  to  him.' 

'  The  bank  is  unlimited,  remember,'  observed  Mr. 
Bentley. 

'  If  you  are  concerned  in  it  yourself,  sir,'  said  the 
doctor  to  Mr.  Ackroyd,  '  I  am  afraid  you  scarcely 
realize  the  gravity  of  your  position.  I  am  told  that 
from  three  to  four  thousand  pounds  will  be  imme- 
diately called  for  on  each  share,  and  that  will  not 
be  all' 

'Grave  enough,  of  course,  especially  to  a  poor 
professional  man  like  me,'  said  Mr.  Ackroyd  ;  '  and 
the  feeling,  "  that  will  not  be  all,"  makes  it  more  or 
less  alarming  for  everybody.  But  three  or  four 
thousand  would  not  mean  ruin  to  such  an  estate  as 


68  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Mr.  Miller's  must  be.  Oh,  certainly  not — quite 
impossible ! ' 

The  doctor  said  nothing,  rightly  holding  that  any 
knowledge  of  his  patients'  affairs  acquired  by  him 
should  be  treated  as  confidentially  as  his  knowledge 
of  their  ailments.  But  he  knew  what  he  knew — 
that  on  the  day  when  he  warned  Mr.  Miller  against 
agitation  or  excitement,  the  good  man  had  quietly 
replied  that  his  anxieties  in  life  were  over ;  he  had 
not  made  a  fortune,  it  was  true,  but  there  was  just 
enough  to  keep  the  lassies  from  starvation,  or  to 
start  them  in  careers  of  their  own  ;  that  if  he  lived 
he  meant  to  train  Chrissy  to  manage  the  bookselling 
business,  and  that  would  keep  up  a  home  for  both, 
if  they  should  not  happen  to  marry.  The  doctor 
had  an  impression  that  three  or  four  thousand 
pounds  would  have  meant  a  good  deal  to  Mr.  Miller. 
The  doctor  had  risen  from  poverty  himself,  and 
knew  how  hard  it  is  to  make  a  fortune  when  its 
beginnings  are  hampered  by  claims  and  duties, 
instead  of  being  furthered  by  help  and  influence. 
But  he  kept  silence,  only  fearing  that  facts  would 
soon  tell  the  truth  but  too  plainly. 

When  Chrissy  reappeared  with  the  keys,  he  made 
so  as  to  take  them  from  her,  thinking  to  spare  her 
a  trial.     But  Chrissy  held  them. 

'  I  will  come  too,'  she  said. 

For  her  father's  step  had  been  the  last  there,  and 


THE  GREAT  METROPOLITAN  BANK.     69 

that  made  the  homely  places  into  holy  places,  which 
a  stranger's  foot  must  not  be  the  first  to  invade. 

The  doctor  and  Mr.  Ackroyd  demurred. 

*  Let  the  young  lady  come,'  decided  Mr.  Bentley. 
Like  Miss  Griffin,  he  understood. 

Chrissy  led  the  way  through  the  shop  to  the 
counting-house.  She  knew  that  her  father  had 
spent  his  last  hours  there  among  his  private  papers. 
He  might  have  left  them  lying  about,  thinking  to  be 
himself  the  first  to  enter.  It  was  not  likely,  but  it 
might  be. 

No — everything  was  cleared  away.  But  the  old 
bureau  stood  open,  and  a  paper,  ruled  in  double 
columns,  lay  on  it.  One  column  was  headed  assets 
— the  other  debts.  The  sum  total  under  the  first 
was  two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds — the  three 
or  four  sums  set  under  the  last  were  all  under  ten 
pounds.  Only  these  were  not  added  up;  an  ugly 
blank  was  left  after  the  words, '  liabilities  on  one 
share  in  the  Metropolitan  Bank.' 

If  poor  Chrissy  saw  at  first,  she  did  not  under- 
stand. And  presently  she  could  see  nothing. 
Glancing  up  from  the  paper,  her  eye  fell  on  the  dead 
baby  brother's  broken  toy  set  in  the  pigeon-hole 
of  the  old  desk.  And  then  a  merciful  mist  of  tears 
came.  Oh,  tender,  loving  father,  where,  oh,  where 
are  you  now  }  And  by  what  token  do  you  re- 
member  your   little   Chrissy,  as   you    remembered 


70  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

your  lost  baby  by  this  little  plaything  ?  She  sat 
down  in  her  father's  chair,  and  bowed  her  head  over 
her  father's  desk,  and  wept  bitterly,  the  big  tears 
falling  on  the  sad  paper  which  she  did  not  yet 
understand  was  the  summing-up  of  his  ruin. 

Doctor  Julius  had  a  fit  of  coughing.  Mr.  Ackroyd 
softly  left  the  counting-house.  Mr.  Bentley  raised 
his  hand  and  gently  touched  the  bright,  bowed  head. 
That  roused  Chrissy.  She  rose,  with  streaming 
eyes,  and  held  out  the  paper. 

'Is  that  any  use.-"  she  asked.  'What  should  I 
do  with  that  ? ' 

'  Lock  it  in  the  front  of  the  desk,  dear  young 
lady,'  said  Mr.  Bentley,  very  gently.  '  It  will  be 
of  great  use — the  very  use  for  which  your  father 
intended  it' 

He  and  the  doctor  stepped  outside  while  Chrissy 
fastened  up  the  desks  and  drawers  and  put  her 
father's  chair  back  against  the  wall. 

*  That  retreat  has  been  made  in  good  order  at  any 
rate,'  said  the  doctor,  who  had  been  in  the  army,  and 
who  generally  used  military  terms  when  his  higher 
feelings  were  keenly  touched.  '  But  did  you  see 
what  was  on  that  paper,  sir  .-*  It  seems  but  a  sad 
outcome  for  such  a  life  and  character  as  I  know  his 
was.' 

'  But  nothing  we  can  see  is  the  end  of_what  is,  you 
know,'  said  the  clergyman. 


THE  GREA  T  ME TR OPOLITAN  BANK.     7 1 

'  Ah ! '  returned  the  doctor,  '  you  are  going  on 
higher  ground.  Yet,  when  we  feel  how  the  defeat 
of  good  men  disheartens  us  even  yet,  we  can  realize 
what  the  disciples  must  have  felt  when  they  stood 
on  Calvary.' 

Mr.  Bentley  was  silent.  He  was  thinking  of  quiet, 
brave  little  Chrissy.  It  struck  him  afterwards  that 
he  had  not  thought  of  her  as  a  penniless  orphan,  but 
only  as  a  devoted  daughter  and  a  sensible  girl. 

*I  suppose  nothing  more  can  be  done  till  the 
relations  come,'  whispered  Mr.  Ackroyd,  as  the 
other  two  gentlemen  joined  him.  *  My  eye  could 
not  help  catching  the  items  on  that  paper,'  he  added 
apologetically ;  *  but  I  am  sure  there  is  some 
mistake.  I  feel  certain  Mr.  Miller  was  a  rich  man. 
Why,  he  was  willing  to  lend  me  a  hundred  pounds, 
without  any  security,  only  a  few  weeks  ago,'  he 
concluded,  with  a  little  nervous  titter,  like  that  of  a 
man  who  has  some  desperate  attempt  to  make  and 
wants  to  get  it  over.  *  Only,  of  course,  I  could  not 
allow  that.' 

*  So  you  offered  as  security —  ? '  questioned  Dr. 
Julius. 

He  knew  a  little  of  Mr.  Ackroyd,  and  was  not 
attracted  by  what  he  knew.  Besides,  the  doctor 
had  seen  many  a  sly  fraud  presently  perpetrated 
on  widows  and  orphans,  for  whom  nothing  but 
sympathy  had  been  expressed  in  the  first  blush  of 


72  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

their  bereavement.  Some  fact  might  have  got 
omitted  from  good  Mr.  Miller's  little  schedule ;  and 
if  it  should  happen  to  be  in  favour  of  the  dead  man's 
representatives,  then  the  sooner  two  or  three  people 
knew  about  it,  the  safer  for  them. 

*  Why — why,'  said  Mr.  Ackroyd,  speaking  quickly, 
'  I  could  not  accept  a  loan  at  all :  I  did  not  need 
one.  I  only  wanted  a  little  ready  money,  and  I 
thought,  as  I  said  to  him,  that  I  was  doing  him 
quite  a  favour  in  selling  him  a  share  in  the  Great 
Metropolitan.' 

*  Oh ! '  observed  Dr.  Julius,  with  a  mistrustful 
glance  ;  *  one  of  several  shares  you  hold,  I  suppose  ? ' 

*  Yes — yes  ;  I'm  considerably  concerned  in  the 
bank,'  returned  the  architect.  *  It  will  be  a  terrible 
affair  for  me.' 

*  But  not  so  bad  as  it  has  proved  for  him,'  remarked 
the  doctor  drily. 

Mr.  Ackroyd  did  not  like  the  tone,  but  there  was 
nothing  that  he  could  challenge  in  the  words, 

*  I  suppose  nothing  more  can  be  done  until  the  rela- 
tives arrive,'  whispered  Mr.  Bentley.  'We  had  better 
leave  these  poor  girls  awhile  with  that  good  old  lady. 
I  shall  be  at  the  vicarage  all  to-day,  and  I  shall  tell 
her  to  send  for  me  if  my  services  can  be  of  any  avail.' 

Chrissy  came  forward  to  shake  hands  with  Dr. 
Julius  and  the  clergyman  when  she  heard  they  were 
going. 


THE  GREAT  METROPOLITAN  BANK.     73 

*It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come,  sir,'  she  said, 
looking  up  into  Mr,  Bentley's  face.  Her  words 
expressed  little  of  what  was  in  her  heart,  for  to  his 
sermon  she  felt  that  she  owed  much  of  that  pleasant 
talk  with  her  father  which  would  henceforth  be 
graven  on  her  memory  with  the  solemnity  and 
significance  of  all  last  things. 

'  I  shall  see  you  again  before  I  leave  town,  my 
dear  young  lady,'  he  said.  *  I  shall  make  a  point 
of  seeing  you.  God  help  and  bless  you  !  Never 
doubt  that  He  will.' 

He  was  the  last  of  the  three  to  leave  the  house, 
and  poor  Chrissy  followed  him  to  the  threshold.  Just 
as  he  stepped  out  he  was  joined  by  a  tall  young 
man,  whose  very  handsome  face  bore  considerable 
traces  of  ill-health  or  mental  disquietude.  As  he 
came  up  to  the  clergyman,  Mr.  Ackroyd  raised  his 
hat.     The  youth  returned  the  salute  rather  slightly. 

*  How  did  you  find  me  here,  Harold  } '  asked  Mr. 
Bentley. 

*  The  vicarage  housekeeper  told  me  she  had  seen 
you  enter  this  house,  father,'  said  the  young  man  ; 
*so  I  came  after  you.  Only,  seeing  the  closed 
shutters,  I  did  not  ask  for  you,  but  waited  outside.' 

'And  who  is  that — person?  I  mean  the  person 
who  stepped  out  before  me,  to  whom  you  bowed. 
He  had  been  in  the  room  with  me,  but  I  never  heard 
his  name,' 


74  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  He  is  a  Mr.  Ackroyd,  father.  He  is  an  architect 
— a  slight  acquaintance  of  mine.' 

'  Harold,'  said  the  clergyman  sadly,  *  is  it  not  a 
melancholy  state  of  things  when  a  father  cannot  feel 
prepossessed  towards  anybody  who  he  sees  is  an 
acquaintance  of  his  son's  ?  Oh,  Harold,  you  young 
folks  have  the  happiness  —  almost  the  very  dis- 
positions— of  your  elders  in  your  keeping.  I  am 
growing  a  soured,  suspicious  man  since  I  have  had  so 
much  disappointment  in  you.  I  don't  even  feel  the 
present  cloud  over  your  prospects  as  I  should.  If 
all  was  well  with  you — your  very  self — the  gloomiest 
prospect  would  soon  brighten.  While  all  is  not 
well,  what  can  prospects  signify  ? ' 

The  youth  answered  nothing.  Perhaps  his  pale 
cheeks  flushed  a  little,  and  then  he  and  his  father 
walked  in  silence  to  the  vicarage  beside  St. 
Cecilia-in-the-Garden. 


"sayi 


CHAPTER  V. 


MR.   BENTLEY  S   VERDICT. 

i^MUNT  KEZIA  came  and  took  up 
her  temporary  abode  in  the  old 
house  in  Shield  Street.  And  so 
there  was  no  occasion  for  Miss 
Griffin  to  remain  longer,  and 
indeed  Aunt  Kezia  gave  her  to 
understand  that  her  presence 
could  only  be  regarded  as  an 
insinuation    that    '  the    relatives ' 

were  not  doing  their  duty. 

*  Which  the  relatives  are  quite  ready  to  do/  she 

observed  acidly  ;  '  they  may  have  to  be  sharp  about 

some  things,  perhaps,  and  so  they  may  not  get  so 

much    credit    for     kindness     as    strangers    might. 

Strangers   can   always    affiDrd   to   be   kind,   having 

no  real  responsibility.' 

And  yet  it  seemed  to  Chrissy  that  Aunt  Kezia 

was  there  chiefly  to  guard  against  any  responsibility 

being  thrust  upon  herself 

75 


76  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  Who  would  have  thought  of  such  a  strict  man  as 
your  father  getting  himself  mixed  up  in  speculation 
and  ruined  by  it ! '  she  observed.  '  So  often  as  I've 
heard  him  say  he  did  not  believe  in  money  being  set 
to  breed  money.  What  but  the  high  interest  could 
have  tempted  him  to  go  buying  a  Metropolitan 
share  ?  But  that  is  how  it  always  is — preaching  is 
one  thing  and  practice  is  another.  It  is  better  to  be 
consistent  in  one's  ways  than  high  in  one's  ideas.  / 
always  believe  in  getting  as  good  an  interest  as  you 
can,  with  the  capital  safe.  It  is  the  greed  that  rushes 
to  ruin  which  I  hate.' 

Chrissy  was  used  to  her  aunt's  code  of  morality, 
with  its  mean  method  of  preserving  consistency  by 
laying  down  no  rules  to  which  it  was  not  convenient 
to  conform.  She  scarcely  resented  her  aunt's 
implied  condemnation  of  her  father,  because  she 
knew  that  lady  always  condemned  anybody  who 
had  lost  anything,  and  felt  that,  just  as  she  blamed 
Mr.  Miller  for  having  lost  his  money,  so  she  blamed 
Helen  and  her  for  having  lost  their  father.  She 
seemed  to  take  the  eighteenth  verse  of  the  forty-ninth 
Psalm  as  a  precept  for  human  conduct  rather  than  an 
observation  upon  it.  Misfortunes  and  bereavements 
were  all  'judgments  '  in  Miss  Kezia's  eyes,  and  she 
seemed  to  think  it  would  be  'a  setting  oneself 
against  Providence '  if  she  attempted  to  mitigate 
their  pain  and  severity  for  others,  while  she  protected 


MR.  BENTLEY'S  VERDICT.  77 

herself  against  them  as  much  as  possible  by  keeping 
her  personal  interests  within  the  narrowest  limits. 

But  it  did  hurt  Chrissy  to  wonder  whether  in  this 
instance  there  was  any  ground  for  the  condemna- 
tion. If  by  doing  right  her  father  had  lost  his 
property  and  left  his  children  beggars,  then  never 
mind  the  loss.  Chrissy  felt  as  if  she  could  walk 
forth,  homeless,  yet  proud  of  her  inheritance.  But 
had  he  really  been  doing,  for  once,  what  Chrissy 
knew  he  had  always  deprecated — seeking  to  make 
money  for  money's  sake?  Chrissy  did  not  expect 
that  her  father  must  be  infallible.  Everybody  was 
tempted,  anybody  might  fall.  With  a  swelling 
heart,  Chrissy  even  remembered  that  her  father 
had  himself  said,  *  Whom  the  Lord  loved.  He  was 
swift  to  chastise,  and  that  the  solitary  lapse  of  tlie 
righteous  man,  the  first  deviation  from  the  straight 
path,  was  often,  in  mercy,  swiftly  followed  by  dire 
results  which  the  persistent  wrong-doing  of  the 
ungodly  or  indifferent  seems  to  escape  in  triumph.' 
Only  it  was  so  hard  not  to  know  whether  her  aunt's 
bitter  words  should  be  met  by  a  brave  defence  or  a 
loving  excuse. 

There  was  no  comfort  to  be  found  in  Helen  ;  all 
her  cry  was, — 

*  If  our  poor  father  had  cared  more  for  money  all 
along,  he  would  have  made  more,  and  then  this  loss 
would  not  have  hurt  us  so  much.     And  indeed  he 


78  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

would  have  had  so  much  more  experience  that  he 
would  have  known  better  than  to  have  become 
possessed  of  a  Metropolitan  share.  Aunt  Kezia 
says  so,  and  if  she  is  wise  about  anything  it  is  about 
money  matters,  especially  about  making  money, — I 
think  she  overdoes  the  matter  of  saving.  The  more 
I  think  about  saving,  the  more  foolish  it  seems. 
Have  not  we  lost  everything  now  ?  We  might  just 
as  well  have  enjoyed  it  more  while  we  had  it.  We 
might  have  spent  more  on  our  holidays,  and  not 
been  so  sparing  on  our  clothes.  It  would  have  all 
come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end,' 

'  No,  it  would  not,'  said  Chrissy ;  '  there  would 
have  been  so  much  the  less  wherewith  to  meet  our 
liabilities.' 

But  when  Chrissy  heard  that  her  father  had  taken 
the  share  because  Mr.  Ackroyd  had  offered  it  to  him 
in  exchange  for  a  loan,  a  load  was  raised  from  her 
heart,  and  she  lifted  up  her  head. 

*  Ought  not  Mr.  Ackroyd  to  take  back  his  share } ' 
she  asked. 

It  was  Dr.  Julius  to  whom  she  made  that 
observation.     He  shook  his  head. 

'  No,  little  woman,'  he  said  ;  '  that  might  be  justice, 
but  it  is  not  law.  It  would  be  honesty,  but  it  is  not 
what  is  called  "  business." ' 

They  were  standing  in  the  shop.  Hans  Krinken, 
from  behind  the  counter,  broke  in  impulsively, — 


MR.  BENTLEY'S  FE EDICT.  8i 

'I  know  all  about  it.  I  heard  it.  I  think  Mr. 
Ackroyd  did  fancy  I  had  but  little  English.  Mr. 
Ackroyd,  he  said  he  was  badly  wanting  fifty  pounds 
to  pay  his  rent — he  had  been  disappointed  in  some 
moneys  he  was  to  receive.  Mr.  Miller,  he  offer  to 
lend  the  fifty  pounds  for  one  week.  Mr.  Ackroyd, 
he  offer  to  pay  the — what  you  call — interest.  Mr. 
Miller,  he  shake  his  head,  and  say  he  no  usurer.  Mr. 
Ackroyd,  he  say  he  is  no  beggar,  and  offer  interest 
again.  But  the  master,  he  very  firm.  Then  Mr. 
Ackroyd,  he  clap  his  hands,  and  say, "  I  have  it,"  and 
he  runs  out  and  brings  back  a  bit  of  paper,  and  he 
says  to  the  master,  *'  Buy  that  from  me.  I  give  fifty 
pounds  for  it,  but  it  is  worth  one  hundred  now." 
Mr.  Miller,  he  say  he  will  not  take  it  for  less  than  it 
is  worth.  He  say  he  knows  nothing  about  such 
things,  and  has  none.  Mr.  Ackroyd  look  very 
sorrowful  ;  say  he  does  not  like  to  part  with  it — it 
be  very  soon  worth  one  hundred  twenty  —  one 
hundred  thirty  pqunds.  Then  my  master  say  he 
will  give  Mr.  Ackroyd  what  he  says  it  is  worth 
— one  hundred  pounds,  and  he  can  buy  it  from  him 
at  the  same  price  when  he  can  get  the  money.  Mr. 
Ackroyd,  he  goes  away,  and  come  back  soon  with 
some  papers,  and  say  it  settled  all  right.  And  Mr. 
Miller,  he  answers  that  Mr.  Ackroyd  is  not  to  forget 
it  is  his  on  the  same  terms.  And  Mr.  Ackroyd, 
he  laugh,  and  say,  Mr.  Miller  has  done  him  one 


82  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

good  turn,  and  himself  another !  Dr.  Julius,  Mr. 
Ackroyd  is  the  bad  man.     I  hate  him  ! ' 

And  the  warm-hearted  boy  brought  his  clenched 
fist  heavily  on  the  counter. 

'Hist,  hist!'  said  the  doctor.  'My  good  fellow, 
we  may  have  our  thoughts  !  But  at  that  time  the 
shares  were  selling  at  the  price  Mr.  Ackroyd  named. 
Things  of  this  sort  are  among  the  lucky  accidents 
one  always  hears  of  connected  with  great  crashes. 
It  is  odd  how  they  generally  happen  to  a  certain 
class  of  people  1 ' 

'  But  Mr.  Ackroyd  has  other  shares  still,'  suggested 
Chrissy.  She  would  not  defend  her  father  from 
imprudence  by  rushing  to  impute  treachery  and 
fraud  to  a  stranger. 

'  Ah,  well,'  admitted  Dr.  Julius  rather  reluctantly, 
'he  thought  so  at  first.  He  thought  he  had  a  vital 
interest  in  some  shares  held  under  a  certain  trust. 
But  it  appears  otherwise.  He  has  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  ruin,  he  says.' 

*  I  know  Mrs.  Ackroyd  and  James  were  terribly 
alarmed  about  it,'  said  Chrissy  involuntarily,  re- 
membering all  she  had  overheard  on  the  night  of  her 
father's  death.  But  at  the  same  instant  came  back 
the  memory  of  Mr.  Ackroyd's  own  cool,  almost 
mocking  tones. 

'Ah,  well,'  said  Dr.  Julius  again,  'we  must  not 
let  our  minds  dwell  on  these  things.     What  is  done 


MR.  BENTLETS  VERDICT.  83 

cannot  be  undone.  And  conjectures  and  suspicions 
lead  nowhere,  and  can  do  us  no  good.'  He  himself 
had  a  medical  man's  horror  of  'fixed  ideas,'  and 
their  evil  effect  on  the  mental,  moral,  and  physical 
nature.  Also,  he  had  a  brother  a  lawyer,  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying  that  the  best  way  to  get  one's 
wrongs  redressed  was  to  forget  all  about  them. 

*  Ay,  so  it  may  be,'  answered  the  young  German  ; 
'  but  I  can  guess  what  was  in  the  mind  of  my  master 
as  he  lay  down  to  his  last  sleep.  And  I  marked 
that  his  Bible  lay  open  at  that  fifteenth  Psalm,  on 
each  verse  of  which  my  good  grandfather  used  to  say 
every  minister  should  preach  at  least  once  a  year.' 

Chrissy  tried  to  obey  the  doctor's  advice.  And 
indeed  Hans  Krinken's  account  had  given  her  one 
more  glimpse  of  her  father,  so  beautiful  in  its  view 
of  his  stern  conscientious  and  kindly  heart,  that  it 
seemed  to  make  the  bearing  of  all  else  quite  easy. 
But  she  could  not  stop  there.  Her  father  was  not 
only  excused,  but  amply  and  nobly  justified,  without 
casting  any  condemnation  on  others.  Mr.  Ackroyd 
could  not  have  known  what  he  was  doing.  No,  that 
was  quite  impossible.  If  Chrissy  could  have  thought 
otherwise,  it  is  doubtful  whether  she  could  have 
repeated  the  story,  for  an  ingenuous  young  heart 
shrinks  from  the  thought  of  guilt  in  others,  as  if  the 
shame  and  pain  were  reflected  upon  itself  But  after 
she  had  told  the  history  to  Aunt  Kezia,  a  horrible 


84  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

doubt  crept  into  her  mind,  for  she  found  that  Aunt 
Kezia  did  not  seem  to  think  it  half  so  unnatural 
that  Mr.  Ackroyd  should  have  thought  of  over- 
reaching his  neighbour's  innocence,  as  that  her  father 
should  have  been  so  ready  to  help  a  neighbour's 
need. 

'  No  good  ever  comes  of  mixing  yourself  up  in 
other  people's  business,'  said  Miss  Kezia  Dafify.  *  I 
believe  people  only  do  so  out  of  vanity,  thinking 
themselves  wiser  and  better  than  other  folk  ;  and 
this  is  the  way  pride  gets  a  fall.  Well,  girls,  it  is  to 
be  hoped  you'll  practise  all  the  good  ways  your 
father  trained  you  in,  and  put  all  his  queer  notions 
and  high-flown  ideas  out  of  your  head,  and  not  strive 
to  be  better  than  other  folks  ;  for  that  only  makes 
the  world  a  harder  place  than  it  is  at  the  best  of 
times  ;  and  you'll  have  nobody  to  look  to  but  your- 
selves. There  is  Helen — beginning  to  expect  every- 
body will  run  to  help  her.  I  tell  her  she  will  find  it 
is  not  so.  There  are  children  left  orphans  and 
penniless  every  day  in  the  year,  and  nobody  thinks 
anything  of  it  except  themselves.' 

Those  hard  words  had  a  certain  stern  comfort  for 
poor  Chrissy,  who  had  a  wholesome  horror  of  tragic 
circumstance,  and  would  rather  that  her  sorrows 
were  commonplace  and  unnoticeable. 

'  What  you  are  to  be,  I  don't  know,'  continued  her 
aunt.     *  You  are  scarcely  old  enough  for  governesses. 


MR.  BENTLETS  VERDICT.  85 

I  believe  my  friend  Madame  Vinet,  who  is  a  dress- 
maker in  the  West  End,  would  take  one  of  you  for 
a  word  from  me.  You'd  have  to  live  in  the  house, 
and  you'd  get  very  little  money  for  a  year  or  two. 
I  think  Helen  will  take  that  chance.  She  did  not 
seem  to  like  it  at  first,  but  she  came  round  when  I 
said  she'd  have  to  be  nicely  dressed  to  be  in  the 
show-room.     But  that's  only  one  of  you.' 

Chrissy  spoke  now.  She  had  been  quietly  form- 
ing certain  plans,  which  she  would  not  confide  to  her 
aunt  till  they  had  taken  some  shape.  She  had 
already  laid  them  before  Dr.  Julius,  and  they  had 
met  with  his  approval. 

'I  think  I  may  be  able  to  stay  on  in  my  father's 
shop,'  she  said  quietly.  '  I  know  what  the  books 
are,  and  where  they  are,  and  the  requirements  of  the 
customers.  Father  has  let  me  learn  all  that  lately  ; 
and  the  people  may  therefore  find  it  an  advantage 
to  hire  me  as  an  assistant.  I  thought  of  that  my- 
self; and  Dr.  Julius  says  it  may  easily  happen — that 
it  is  often  done.' 

Aunt  Kezia  looked  at  her  niece,  up  and  down. 
The  good  lady  had  not  spared  complaints  of  having 
'  all  the  burden  of  those  helpless  girls'  future  cast 
upon  her  mind  ; '  but  now  she  half  resented  the 
firm  though  modest  way  in  which  Chrissy  seemed 
inclined  to  take  hers  into  her  own  hands,  and  form 
plans  and  projects  for  herself. 


86  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  Humph  ! '  she  said  ;  *  that  will  be  a  strange  kind 
of  place  for  you  to  fill.  However,  if  you  can  get  it, 
it  may  do  as  well  as  anything  else.  What  sort  of  a 
salary  will  you  expect  ? '  Then,  taking  alarm  as  she 
reflected  that  her  own  residence  was  within  walking 
distance  from  Shield  Street,  and  that  she  intended 
her  nieces  *  to  begin  as  they  would  have  to  go  on,' 
which  meant  to  expect  nothing  from  her,  she  asked, 
*  I  don't  suppose  you'd  be  able  to  stay  in  the  house  ; 
it's  not  too  big  for  one  family,  without  assistants. 
And  they  would  not  be  likely  to  pay  you  enough  to 
find  you  in  board  and  lodging  elsewhere.' 

*  I  asked  Dr.  Julius  what  would  be  the  very  least 
they  could  give,'  Chrissy  answered  gently ;  *  and 
Miss  Griffin  says  she  could  take  me  to  live  with  her 
for  the  sum  he  named.' 

'  Miss  Griffin  has  no  house  of  her  own  to  take  you 
to.  She  is  only  a  hired  servant  herself,'  snapped 
Aunt  Kezia. 

'  The  warehouse  people  won't  object  to  her  taking 
me  in,'  Chrissy  persisted.  '  They  have  often  said 
that  they  wished  she  had  some  young  niece  or  friend 
to  sleep  there  with  her,  and  save  her  from  being  so 
lonely.' 

'  You'll  find  you  are  looked  upon  as  quite  a 
common  working  girl,'  said  the  aunt,  regarding 
Chrissy  with  strong  disfavour. 

Chrissy  smiled  slightly. 


MR.  BENTLEYS  VERDICT.  87 

'  That  does  not  matter,'  she  said.  *  I  shall  be 
doing  the  sort  of  work  that  father  did,  and  it  is  the 
nearest  plan  I  can  see  for  doing  the  work  he  meant 
me  to  do.  He  always  thought  I  should  be  able  to 
keep  on  the  shop.' 

'  But  all  that  is  over  now ;  being  hired — if  you  can 
get  hired — to  serve  in  the  shop  is  a  very  different 
thing,'  observed  Miss  Kezia. 

'  Shopmen  often  rise  to  be  masters,'  said  poor 
Chrissy,  with  an  expression  of  resolution  settling  on 
her  face. 

'  Women  are  not  men  ;  women  never  rise,'  pro- 
nounced Miss  Daffy.  '  That's  why  it's  the  duty  of 
their  relatives  to  see  that  they  are  properly  provided 
for  to  begin  with.' 

This  was  one  of  those  side  hits  at  her  dead  father 
which  Chrissy  could  not  endure.  So  she  replied 
with  some  spirit, — 

'Then  if  a  woman  should  prove  that  she  has  it 
in  her  to  rise,  it  becomes  clear  that  the  very  best 
provision  possible  has  been  made  for  her.' 

'You  will  find  that  poor  people  must  not  have 
tempers,'  said  Aunt  Kezia,  with  ironical  good 
humour. 

The  Rev.  Harold  Bentley  was  true  to  his  word. 
His  own  business,  or  rather  his  son's,  detained  him 
in  town,  and,  in  the  absence  of  the  vicar,  it  was  he 
who  conducted  Mr.  Miller's  funeral.     And  he  went 


88  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

home  afterwards  to  the  house  in  Shield  Street,  and 
spoke  soothing  words  to  the  weeping  girls,  and 
listened  patiently  to  the  recital  of  Aunt  Kezia's  trials, 
among  which  that  lady  did  not  omit  to  mention 
what  she  considered  the  strong-headedness  and 
wrong-headedness  which  her  younger  niece  had  in- 
herited from  the  dead  man. 

As  he  went  down  Shield  Street,  on  his  way  to  the 
vicarage,  he  heard  many  of  the  neighbours  talking  of 
him  whom  they  had  just  seen  carried  to  his  last  rest. 
He  heard  one  say,  in  almost  the  same  words  as  Dr. 
Julius  had  used,  *  Sad  that  such  a  life  should  end  in 
such  defeat !  ' 

'  Defeat ! '  echoed  the  clergyman  within  himself. 
*  He  who  leaves  behind  him  such  a  child  as  Chrissy 
Miller,  leaves  an  investment  on  earth,  which  he  will 
find  again  with  untold  increase  in  the  Kingdom  of 
God.  Alexander  Miller  is  written  down  in  heaven 
as  a  successful  man.' 

And  Mr.  Bentley  sighed.  But  the  sigh  was  for 
some  who  still  lived,  not  for  him  who  was  at  rest. 

And  so  the  dead  was  buried  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
living.  And  the  sunshine  once  more  streamed 
through  the  old  house  in  Shield  Street.  And  a  few 
more  days  would  decide  the  future  of  the  girls. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


IN   THE   SKY-PARLOUR. 


HERE  are  some  cir- 
cumstances under 
which  human  nature 
is  seldom  seen  to 
advantage.  These  are 
not  the  supreme  crises 
of  life.  The  possibili- 
ties of  danger  or  loss 
often  call  out  all  that 
is  best  in  us.  But 
some  who  will  not 
shrink  from  certain 
forms  of  self-sacrifice 
seem  unable  to  resist  very  small  temptations  to  self- 
aggrandizement  Brothers  and  sisters  who  have  vied 
with  each  other  in  the  support  and  solace  of  an  aged 
parent,  when  the  filial  duty  is  completed,  will  occa- 
sionally fall  into  most  unfraternal  feelings  over  the 

89 


90  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

division  of  such  simple  household  spoil  as  feather 
beds  and  silver  tea-spoons.  Old  neighbours  and 
attendants,  who  have  rendered  services  without  price, 
will  show  a  singular  avidity  to  possess  a  *  memorial ' 
of  pecuniary  value. 

Many  a  dead  man,  could  he  stand  among  his 
friends  after  the  reading  of  his  will,  would  feel  as  if 
they  must  be  almost  glad  of  his  departure,  so  eagerly 
do  they  make  prey  of  his  effects,  while  they  seem  to 
recall  the  ties  of  near  kindred  and  long  association 
only  to  urge  them  as  claims  for  precedence  in 
plunder.  But  the  dead  man  does  not  so  stand.  If 
he  has  risen  to  the  higher  life,  we  may  certainly  trust 
that  his  vision  is  closed  to  all  but  what  may  rise  there 
with  him,  the  pure  and  patient  love  which  sits 
silently  aside,  and  will  scarcely  use  his  own  expressed 
wishes  as  a  claim  for  itself,  strongly  as  it  urges  them 
in  behalf  of  others. 

But,  alas  !  for  that  pure  and  patient  love — for  its 
vision  must  remain  open  to  the  sordid  struggle  round 
it.  Alas !  that  to  the  agonized  cry,  '  Why  was  the 
light  of  mine  eyes  taken  ? '  there  must  be  so  often 
added  the  bitter  wail,  'And  why  was  I  left  with 
these  ? ' 

It  all  seemed  so  strange  to  Helen  and  Chrissy. 
It  always  does  seem  strange  when  we  first  discover 
that  the  old  familiar  surroundings  of  our  lives  can 
be  torn  from  us,  and  that  they  have  other  value  than 


IN  THE  SKY-FAR  LOUR.  91 

their  use  or  their  prettiness.  The  child  enters  the 
world  with  a  glorious  sense  of  property.  He  uses  the 
possessive  pronoun  with  everything.  Little  by  little 
he  learns  his  own  poverty ;  his  weakness  to  win — 
his  greater  weakness  to  hold.  And  only  when  he 
has  learned  to  think  of  nought  as  '  mine,'  or  even  as 
*  ours,'  but  of  all  as  *  God's,'  does  he  enter  on  his  true 
inheritance  which  can  never  fade  away. 

'  Of  course,  till  all  the  creditors  are  paid,  every- 
thing belongs  to  them,'  observed  Aunt  Kezia  acidly ; 
'  and  the  Great  Metropolitan  Bank  is  a  creditor  that 
will  swallow  up  everything.  But  there  are  some 
things  it  has  no  right  to.  There  were  certain  articles 
)'Our  mother  took  from  your  grandmother's  house 
that  were  not  exactly  given  to  her:  she  was  just 
allowed  to  take  them  as  a  sort  of  obligement  because 
she  had  grown  used  to  them,  and  to  save  your 
father's  money,  I  suppose.  There's  that  bronze 
fender  in  the  best  bedroom,  and  a  good  feather  bed 
and  two  down  pillows  ;  I'd  often  thought  of  saying 
to  your  father  that  I'd  had  as  good  a  right  to  those 
things  as  your  mother  could  have  had ;  and  that  I'd 
no  down  pillows  of  my  own.  But  I  wasn't  the 
person  to  disturb  them  while  he  lived.  I  think  I'd 
better  go  through  the  drawers  and  boxes  at  once  and 
see  if  I  can  find  any  other  similar  trifles,  and  then 
I'll  take  them  away  quietly  in  my  cab  to-night. 
When  you  know  you  have  an  honest  right  to  things, 


92  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

it's  no  use  raising  a  scandal  and  a  hubbub,  and 
tempting  lawyers  and  such  people  into  trying  to 
defraud  you/ 

'  Aunt  Kezia  is  like  a  magpie  picking  up  buttons,' 
said  Helen,  who  had  begun  to  recover  her  volatile 
spirits.  '  She  has  an  innate  hankering  after  "  things," 
whether  they  are  what  she  will  ever  use  or  not' 

Helen  accompanied  her  aunt  in  her  rummaging. 
She  did  not  shrink  from  seeing  the  old  stores,  and 
could  find  amusement  in  Miss  Daffy's  prattle  con- 
cerning kinsfolk  and  old  neighbours,  brought  to 
mind  by  the  old  relics  she  was  turning  over.  It  was 
quite  decided  that  Helen  was  to  go  to  live  with 
Madame  Vinet,  the  West  End  dressmaker ;  and 
Chrissy  wondered  why  it  was  that  she  did  not  like 
to  hear  how  Helen  dwelt  on  one  side  only  of  her 
future  life.  Of  course,  it  was  right  to  dwell  only  on 
the  sunnier  side — to  forecast  only  brightness.  But 
why  did  not  the  real  pleasure  of  honest  work,  the 
blessings  of  industry,  and  providence,  and  ambition, 
put  in  any  appearance  on  this  sunny  side  of  Helen's 
future?  Why  was  it  only  represented  by  the 
amount  of  hoped-for  leisure,  by  the  acquaintances 
which  might  be  made,  and  by  vague  possibilities  of 
changes  for  the  better  ?  Chrissy  felt  an  aching  fear 
lest  somehow  life  should  disappoint  Helen — and 
then — what  then  ? 

Chrissy  could  not  bear  to  see  her  aunt  lifting  out 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  93 

and  unfolding  and  criticizing.  For  the  sake  of  her 
dead  father,  all  the  dead  had  grown  sacred  to  her, 
and  whatever  had  been  linked  with  vanished  lives 
became  holy.  There  was  a  little  quaint,  inexpensive 
jewellery  which  had  belonged  to  dead  kinswomen 
on  Mrs.  Miller's  side,  of  which  Aunt  Kezia  took 
possession,  saying  that  it  was  useless  to  the  girls  in 
its  present  old-fashioned  state,  and  they  would  have 
neither  money  to  alter  it  nor  occasion  to  wear  it  for 
years  to  come,  whereas  she  was  an  old-fashioned 
woman  herself,  and  had  known  its  original  owners, 
and  so  forth.  There  was  one  ring  in  particular,  of 
red  Mexican  gold,  with  something  lying  dim  beneath 
the  crystal  set  in  it. 

'  I'll  have  that  taken  out,  and  your  mother's  hair 
put  in,'  said  Aunt  Kezia.  *  And  after  my  time,  the 
ring  will  come  to  one  of  you — to  whichever  best 
deserves  it,'  she  added  didactically. 

'  But  is  not  that  somebody's  hair  in  it  already  1 ' 
asked  Chrissy  softly. 

'  Yes,  child,'  answered  Aunt  Kezia,  looking  up  in 
wonder.  '  But  what  of  that  ?  If  it  is  taken  out, 
the  ring  will  be  as  good  as  new.' 

'But  somebody  put  it  there,'  persisted  Chrissy. 
*  Somebody  loved  it,  and  put  it  there.  Ought  we 
not  to  leave  it  for  their  sake  ? 

*  La,  child  ! '  said  the  old  lady;  *  I  don't  know  who 
they  were,  so  what  can  I  care  for  their  sakes  ? ' 


94  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  For  sake   of  the  love,  '  Chrissy   whispered,  her 
face  flushing  with  the  sense  that  she  was  speaking  I 
words  which  would  be   nonsense  to  the   ears   that 
heard  them. 

*  Now,  that  is  what  I  call  downright  sentimental 
rubbish  ! '  retorted  Miss  Kezia  sharply.  *  If  people 
went  on  at  that  rate,  the  world  would  never  move 
forward.  I  suppose  you  would  have  us  keep  old 
hats  and  shoes  next,  and  our  houses  would  be  full  of 
moth-eaten  memorials.' 

'No,'  said  Chrissy  stoutly;  'that  is  quite  a 
different  thing.  Clothes  are  no  record  of  love ;  they 
were  bought  for  use,  and  that  is  their  best  end.  You 
know  I  wanted  you  to  give  my  father's  clothes  to 
Hans  Krinken.  They  would  have  saved  his  money, 
and  he  knew  my  father,  and  would  have  valued 
them  not  less,  but  more,  because  they  had  belonged 
to  him.' 

*In  the  state  of  your  father's  affairs,  it  was  not  for  me 
to  go  giving  away  his  things,'  snapped  Miss  Kezia. 

She  knew  it  had  hurt  Chrissy  sorely  when  she 
had  bartered  them  with  a  second-hand  wardrobe 
keeper,  and  she  also  knew  that  the  Great  Metro- 
politan Bank,  in  whose  interest  she  had  professedly 
indulged  in  these  and  many  similar  economies,  had 
been  no  gainer  by  the  exchanges  she  had  got, 
sundry  glass  vases  and  a  handsome  tea-service,  now 
standincr  in  her  own  house. 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  95 

'  You  get  far  better  value  in  kind  than  in  cash,' 
she  had  explained  to  the  girls,  quieting  her  own 
conscience  by  the  reflection.  *  We  don't  lose  what 
a  friend  gets,  and  two  orphan  girls  can  be  only  the 
better  off  for  any  gain  accruing  to  their  aunt  and 
only  protector.' 

The  day  of  the  sale  arrived.  The  incoming 
tenant  of  the  Shield  Street  house — the  purchaser 
of  the  business,  who,  to  Chrissy's  solemn  delight, 
had  gladly  fallen  in  with  an  arrangement  for  her 
services — agreed  to  take  over  the  greater  part  of 
the  furniture  as  it  stood,  at  a  valuation.  Only  a 
few  articles  of  a  more  special  character  were  to  be 
sold  by  auction — as,  for  example,  an  old-fashioned 
black  oak  bookcase,  which  Mr.  Miller  himself  had 
rescued  from  destruction  at  the  hands  of  an 
ignorant  furniture-dealer.  It  was  bought  by  Mr. 
Ackroyd.  Chrissy  learned  this  because,  in  anxiety 
for  its  fate,  she  inquired  of  Hans  Krinken.  The 
boy's  face  darkened  as  he  told  her  the  fact. 

'  The  Great  Metropolitan  Bank  had  not  done  him 
much  harm,  after  all,'  he  said. 

'  There  is  always  somebody  strangely  saved  in 
shipwrecks  and  disasters,'  said  Chrissy,  'and  I 
suppose  it  is  the  same  in  these  failures.  That 
doesn't  make  it  really  harder  for  those  who  are  not 
saved — though  it  makes  it  seem  so,'  she  added 
candidly. 


96  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  If  it  is  not  Mr.  Ackroyd's  fault  that  he  is  so 
fortunate,  then  it  is  his  misfortune,'  said  Hans 
grimly.  And  Chrissy  knew  he  was  vexed,  but 
fancied  that  his  expression  in  English  was  rather 
defective. 

The  aunt  and  her  two  nieces  each  carried  off 
some  salvage  from  the  household  wreck.  Miss 
Daffy  had  her  down  pillows,  and  her  out-of-date 
brooches,  and  sundry  other  little  knick-knacks,  to 
which  she  laid  a  family  claim ;  and  Helen  had  a 
bundle  of  strange  faded  shreds,  which  seemed  to 
her  aunt  utterly  worthless,  but  in  which  the  girl's 
quick  eye  detected  the  makings  of  singular  and 
rather  distinguished  finery.  The  girls  had  not  many 
books  of  their  very  own  —  their  reading,  limited 
enough  in  Helen's  case,  having  been  in  their 
father's  library.  Such  as  they  had  they  divided 
between  them  ;  and  Helen,  as  the  eldest,  got  the 
grandly-bound  Bible,  which  her  father  had  never 
used  ;  and  Chrissy  had  the  little  worn  volume, 
which  had  lain  open  by  her  father's  death-bed,  and 
the  broken  toy  which  had  stood  in  his  bureau, 
and  the  stumpy  pen  with  which  he  had  written 
that  terrible  schedule  which  had  proved  his  last 
earthly  task. 

The  last  hour  of  the  last  sad  day  came  in  time. 
Helen  was  to  go  home  with  her  Aunt  Kezia  and 
remain  with  her  for  a  day  or  two,  making  sundry 


IN  TUB  SKY-PARLOUR.  97 

preparations  for  her  ultimate  sojourn  with  her 
aunt's  friend  Madame  Vinet.  Miss  Kezia  was 
determined  that  there  should  not  be  a  scanty  frill 
or  a  deficient  garment  in  Helen's  outfit,  since  that 
might  be  a  slur  on  her  own  solicitude.  But  poor 
Chrissy  was  to  go  straight  to  Miss  Griffin.  Miss 
Daffy  never  even  visited  that  worthy  woman  to  see 
what  accommodation  she  could  offer  her  niece. 
Chrissy  had  taken  her  own  way ;  let  her  take  it,  was 
her  aunt's  feeling.  Independence  and  enterprise  are 
often  left  to  a  very  ungenial  freedom.  Where] 
people  cannot  patronize,  they  often  do  not  care  to 
help. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  Miss  Griffin  ran  up  to 
the  old  house  in  Shield  Street  to  tell  Chrissy  that 
everything  was  ready  for  her  at  her  place.  But  she 
had  to  go  home  again  to  attend  to  some  duties  of 
her  own,  and  Chrissy  would  have  to  walk  up  alone. 
She  helped  her  aunt  and  Helen  to  stow  their 
baggage  into  the  cab  that  was  to  carry  them  away, 
and  then  went  back  for  her  own  little  package  of 
relics,  and  stood  on  the  pavement  to  watch  them 
off 

James  Ackroyd  was  there  too,  helping  Miss  Daffy, 
and  speaking  last  words  to  Helen,  whose  mingled 
tears  and  smiles  made  a  picture  of  pain  and  patience 
enough  to  excite  anybody's  sympathy. 

The  cab  drove  off.     James  Ackroyd,  with  a  slight, 


98  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

absent-minded  smile  on  his  lips,  turned  and  went 
into  his  own  house.  He  had  not  specially  noticed 
Chrissy  standing  beside  him.  And  there  need  be 
no  last  words  for  her.  She  was  not  going  away  ;  he 
might  see  her  again  to-morrow. 

Chrissy  moved  off  tearless,  with  her  little  bundle 
in  her  hands,  and  a  great  weight  of  loneliness  in  her 
heart.  To  whom,  or  to  what,  did  she  belong  now  .'' 
The  very  portico  she  had  just  left  was  no  longer  her 
home-threshold,  but  a  stranger's  doorstep.  An 
aching  weariness,  a  sense  of  sordid  drudgery,  over- 
came her.  The  package  she  carried  suddenly 
seemed  to  grow  heavy  and  unwieldy.  She  was 
nobody's '  little  Chrissy.'  She  was  only  one  of  those 
whom  she  had  often  heard  so  carelessly  massed 
together  as  '  working  girls.' 

*  Miss  Chrissy,  let  me  carry  that.' 

Chrissy  started.  The  familiar  voice  sounded  so 
soft  and  subdued.  It  was  only  Hans  Krinken. 
Chrissy  surrendered  her  parcel  without  one  word. 

She  walked  on.  Hans  did  not  keep  pace  with 
her,  but  kept  behind.  Nobody  had  seemed  to  re- 
member her  but  this  poor  shop-boy,  almost  a 
stranger.  Well,  she  was  only  a  shop-girl  now ;  yet 
still — she  had  been  his  master's  daughter.  His 
acknowledged  consciousness  of  the  fact  seemed  like 
the  last  vestige  of  her  lost  position.  Why  should 
she  surrender  it  ? 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  99 

That  thought  was  not  worthy  of  Chrissy,  and  a 
truer  one  came.  Her  familiar  knowledge  of  Scripture 
supplied  her  with  definite  form  for  her  intuitions. 
She  had  learned  to  think  in  Scriptural  imagery. 

'  Who  was  the  neighbour  of  him  who  fell  among 
thieves  ? '  she  asked  herself.  *  He  who  showed 
kindness  to  him.'  What  should  we  think  of  the 
rescued  Jew,  if  we  heard  that  afterwards,  because 
his  benefactor  was  a  Samaritan,  he  *  kept  him  in  his 
place ' .'' 

She  turned  and  spoke  to  Hans,  who  stepped 
forward  to  listen  to  'Miss  Christina.'  But  the 
moment  she  was  silent  he  fell  back  again. 

Chrissy  had  often  visited  Miss  Griffin  before,  and 
then  her  sky-parlour,  overlooking  a  landscape  of  red 
tiles  and  chimney-pots,  had  seemed  a  delightfully 
quaint  abode,  such  as  one  reads  of  in  Andersen's 
tales  of  Danish  or  German  life.  But  to-day  the  dark 
stairway,  common  to  all  the  offices  of  which  Miss 
Griffin  had  charge,  seemed  dirty  and  stuffy;  there 
was  a  ceaseless  clatter  of  voices  behind  the  closed 
doors,  a  pervading  smell  of  'samples,'  and  even  the 
nettle-geranium  spreading  itself  across  the  window 
on  the  landing  looked  like  somebody  in  reduced 
circumstances,  resolutely  making  the  best  of  things. 
It  was  all  so  different  from  the  sweet  simple  quietude 
that  used  to  reign  in  Shield  Street.  And  that 
quietude  was  broken  up  now.     It  seemed  to  Chrissy 


loo  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

that  the  cruel  change  would  have  been  easier  to 
bear  if  she  had  left  that  intact.  Some  order  would 
reign  there  again  presently,  but  just  now  she  had 
left  dust  and  confusion  and  bickering  voices  even 
there.  She  had  not  only  been  driven  from  paradise, 
but  paradise  was  shaken  on  its  own  foundations. 
The  world — Chrissy's  world — seemed  coming  to  an 
end.  There  remained  nothing  for  her  but  to  try  to 
do  the  right  thing  as  far  as  each  moment  showed 
it  to  her.  To  do  it,  no  longer  easily  and  happily, 
but  at  least  sincerely  and  strenuously ;  even  when 
it  might  be  only  in  such  small  matters  as  giving 
an  appreciative  look  at  Miss  Griffin's  hospitably 
spread  tea  -  table,  and  noticing  its  decorative 
bunch  of  china-asters  with  the  exclamation,  *  How 
pretty ! ' 

And  in  doing  this,  poor  Chrissy  had  her  reward. 
For,  as  she  looked  from  these  little  preparations  to 
her  hostess's  face,  she  saw  that  they  had  been  a 
labour  of  love.  The  little  woman  was  in  a  perfect 
flutter  of  joyful  excitement.  Her  lonely  life  was 
ended,  for  a  while  at  least,  and  this  was  a  gala  day 
for  her,  only  chastened  by  the  recollection  that  it 
could  be  no  gala  for  poor  Chrissy. 

'  You'll  stay  and  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  us,'  she 
said  to  Hans,  when  Chrissy  had  gone  to  her  own 
room  to  take  off  her  bonnet  and  settle  her  small 
possessions.     *T  reckon  you've  all  had  a  hard  day  of 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  loi 

it  at  Shield  Street,  and  you  look  nearly  as  tired  as 
Miss  Chrissy  herself.' 

*  No,  thank  you ;  I  would  rather  go  straight 
home,'  he  answered.  And  he  persisted  in  his  deter- 
mination till  Miss  Griffin,  giving  a  keen  look  into 
his  face,  saw  something  there  which  checked  her 
kindly  invitation. 

*  No,  no,'  he  said  to  himself  as  he  went  slowly 
down-stairs ;  *  it's  not  with  me  that  the  world's  going 
to  teach  her  it  thinks  she  is  standing  in  a  new  place. 
She  is  still  Miss  Chrissy,  and  I'm  Hans  Krinken.  I 
may  be  Mr.  Hans  Krinken  some  day,  though.  Only 
I'll  keep  my  distance  till  then.  And  I've  heard  my 
grandmother  say  that  a  friend  beneath  one  often 
serves  one  better  than  a  patron  above  one.' 

*  That  German  boy  seems  a  fine  lad,'  commented 
Miss  Griffin,  as  Chrissy  took  her  seat  at  the  tea- 
table.  *  He  must  have  been  brought  up  by  superior 
people ;  he  has  such  gentle,  unassuming  manners.  I 
should  say  there  are  good  things  before  him.  Per- 
haps some  day  it  will  be  an  incident  in  your  life 
that  he  helped  you  this  afternoon.  Stranger  things 
have  happened.  It  will  be  nice  for  you  to  have  him 
to  work  under  you  in  the  shop  instead  of  a  perfect 
stranger.' 

'  He  will  be  soon  fit  for  a  better  situation,'  said 
Chrissy.  '  Father  said  he  would  be  directly  he  knew 
English  ways  and  spoke  English  fluently,  and  he 


I02  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

has   made  wonderful    progress    since   he   came  to 
Shield  Street.' 

'  Ah,  well,  at  any  rate,  you  will  have  got  warm  to 
your  work  before  he  goes  away,'  said  Miss  Griffin. 
'And  you'll  be  quite  at  home  among  your  book- 
shelves from  the  first.' 

*  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  satisfy  my  employers,' 
said  poor  Chrissy  dismally. 

Miss  Griffin  laughed,  a  strange  little  soft  laugh. 

'You've  got  to  do  more  than  that,'  she  said./ 
'That's  the  beginning  ;  but  it  would  be  dreary  worki 
if  it  was  the  end.  You'll  have  to  satisfy  yourself 
too,  and  to  serve  God.  And  that  last  is  the  founda- 
tion of  all.  There  cannot  be  a  happy  life  if  that  i 
does  not  come  in.  Our  souls  need  that  service,  if 
they  are  to  be  healthy,  just  as  much  as  our  bodies 
need  food.' 

'  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  shall  begin  to  teach 
in  the  Sunday  school,'  murmured  Chrissy  wistfully. 

'  Ay,  my  dear,  and  that  will  be  a  good  and  a  happy 
work  for  you,'  said  Miss  Griffin,  who  could  guess  at 
once,  by  old  secrets  of  her  own  heart,  how  the  girl 
had  been  surveying  her  desolated  life,  and  pondering 
how  new  interests  of  affection  and  service  could  be 
brought  into  it.  '  But  that  is  not  quite  what  I  mean. 
We  must  not  give  God  what  is  worth  nothing  ;  and 
until  we  have  got  all  our  lives  into  His  service,  no 
part  of  them  is  worth  offering  to  Him.     We  have 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  103 

got  to  do  our  work  for  wages, — our  work  for  our 
bread, — with  a  constant  sense  of  His  presence,  just 
as  you,  without  wages,  once  helped  and  pleased  your 
dear  father.' 

'  Oh,  but  that  was  so  easy ! '  sighed  Chrissy. 

*  Ay,  my  dear,  and  so  is  the  other.  Never  fancy  that 
God's  service  is  hard  and  dreary.  "Wisdom's  ways 
are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace." 
Take  your  wages  as  quite  apart  from  your  work, 
as  just  something  to  keep  you  going,  like  the  meals 
in  your  father's  house.  And  don't  measure  God's 
love  for  you,  nor  what  He  is  doing  for  you,  by  what 
you  get  of  worldly  gear,  any  more  than  you  would 
have  reckoned  up  your  father's  love  by  the  number 
of  dishes  he  set  before  you.  And  always  remember/ 
this,  my  dear, — there  is  not  a  task  in  the  world 
which  isn't  done  differently  according  as  he  who 
does  it  fears  and  loves  God,  or  only  thinks  of  him- 1 
self  and  his  own  pleasure  or  gain.  There's  some 
employments  in  which  we  can  see  this  plainly 
enough, — such  as  teaching,  and  nursing,  and  domestic 
service  (I'm  only  speaking  of  women  now).  But 
it's  the  same  in  all.  And  I'll  tell  you  how  I  found 
that  out,  my  dear.  I  found  it  out  when  my  mother 
died,  and  her  annuity  died  with  her,  and  I  discovered 
that  I  was  not  able  to  earn  my  bread  by  being 
anything  but  what  I  am  now,  a  poor  old  chambers- 
keeper.' 


to4  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

She  paused  with  a  trembling  lip.  Chrissy  let 
her  warm  young  fingers  close  over  the  withered 
hand. 

'You  have  been  so  kind  to  me/  she  said, 'and  I've 
been  feeling  very  bad  to-day,  and  now  you're  mak- 
ing me  begin  to  feel  better.' 

'  If  one  has  set  one's  face  into  the  right  way,  one 
always  gets  what  one  wants  to  help  one  on,'  said 
Miss  Griffin  simply,  and  then  she  proceeded  : 

*  Well,  my  dear,  I  can  assure  you  it  was  a  bitter  day 
for  me  when  I  found  out  how  little  I  was  really  fit  for. 
I'd  always  flattered  myself  I  was  quite  fit  either  for 
a  lower  sort  of  teacher  or  a  hospital  nurse.  It  is  a 
foolish  way  that  women  have,  of  fancying  that  at  a 
moment's  notice  they  are  quite  fit  to  be  what  they'd 
like  to  be.  I  hope  they're  growing  wiser  now.  It 
would  be  a  terrible  world  if  men  had  the  same  idea, 
wouldn't  it .''  Perhaps  I  might  have  been  trained  to 
fill  either  of  these  positions  when  I  left  school,  but 
then  that  was  many  years  before,  and  I  had  gone 
back,  and  the  world  had  gone  forward.  And  I 
found  that  the  humblest  teacher  was  expected  to 
instruct  in  subjects  whose  very  names  I  did  not 
understand,  and  that  nobody  could  get  employment 
as  a  nurse  who  was  under  a  certain  height  or  over  a 
certain  age.  These  are  all  changes  for  the  better,  I 
don't  deny.  But  still,  there  was  poor  little  me,  with 
thirty  or   forty  possible  years  of  life  before  me — 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  105 

unless,  indeed,  I  died  sooner  of  starvation,  which  did 
not  seem  unlikely  at  that  time ! ' 

The  little  woman's  face  still  quivered.  She  was 
telling  now  what  she  had  never  told  before.  Her 
life  had  had  its  great  sorrows,  about  which  she  could 
often  speak  calmly  and  trustfully ;  but  it  is  our 
very  soul  which  is  in  danger  on  the  day  when  its 
ambitions,  be  they  homely  or  lofty,  lie  dead  about 
it ;  and  when  we  stir  the  dust  of  that  defeat,  the  old 
misery  will  rankle  within  us. 

*  Well,  well,'  she  said,  rallying  herself,  *  I  found 
out  I  could  dust  rooms,  and  keep  account  of  dinners, 
and  lock  doors  ;  and  so  here  I  am  !     And  very  hard 
and  bitter  I  was  at  first' 
•    *  And  what  helped  you  f '  asked  Chrissy  softly. 

*It  was  just  this:  A  young  man,  employed  as  a 
clerk  in  one  of  the  offices  below,  went  wrong.  He 
had  not  been  doing  well  for  some  time,  and  at  last 
it  ended,  as  it  generally  does,  in  his  being  dishonest. 
His  masters  did  not  want  to  be  hard  with  him,  but 
they  could  not  keep  him  on  in  his  situation,  nor 
could  they  give  him  any  character ;  and,  besides, 
there  were  other  people  mixed  up  in  it,  which  made 
them  fear  he  might  have  to  be  sent  to  prison. 
His  poor  mother  came  up  from  the  country,  travel- 
ling day  and  night  to  get  here  in  time;  and  when 
the  gentlemen  saw  her,  a  poor,  sickly,  worn-out 
widov/,  they  could  not  bear  to  speak  to  her  in  their 


to6  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

business  rooms,  with  not  one  woman  that  she  knew 
in  all  the  great  city  round  her ;  and  they  brought 
her  up  to  me,  and  told  me  to  give  her  rest  and 
refreshment' 

'  And  I  know  how  kind  you  would  be  to  her ! ' 
said  Chrissy. 

'  I  did  my  best,'  said  Miss  Griffin  ;  '  and  I  really 
felt  for  her,  if  that  might  be  any  comfort.  And  she 
sat  just  opposite  where  we  are  sitting  now,  and  asked 
question  after  question  about  her  boy,  and  what  his 
habits  had  been  in  this  respect  and  in  that,  and  how 
he  had  begun  to  go  wrong.  And  ever  and  again 
she  would  say,  "  There  was  nobody  to  keep  him  up 
to  the  mark  in  a  frieadlyjyay."  I  asked  her  if  he 
wrote  often  to  her.  He  had  at  first,  she  said,  but  it 
dropped  off.  "  There  was  nobody  to  put  him  in  j 
mind,  you  see,  but  plenty  of  influences  pulling  the: 
other  way."  And  I  said  to  myself,  then  and  there, 
"  There  will  be  other  young  lads  coming  to  begin 
the  world  in  these  offices,  and  I'll  lay  their  charge  on 
myself,  and  do  my  best  to  keep  them  in  remembrance 
of  what  is  good."  And  that  has  served  to  keep  me  up 
to  my  other  duties  better  than  anything  else  ;  for  one 
has  to  be  both  respected  and  friend-like  before  one 
can  hope_to_do_any  good.  One  can  find  out  many  a 
way  when  one  has  the  will.  I  think  of  their  dinners 
for  them,  and  find  out  what  is  cheap,  and  remember 
what  they  like  ;  and  I  look  after  their  overcoats  and 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOVR,  107 

boots  on  wet  days,  and  put  them  in  mind  when  they 
should  begin  their  winter  underclothing.  And  then 
they  sit  down  and  speak  a  little  and  talk  about 
home ;  and  after  that  I  can  ask  a  question  as  to 
when  they  have  heard  from  their  folks,  and  when 
they  have  written  to  them  ;  and  so  I  get  a  chance 
of  being  a  friend  to  them  in  my  small  way.  A 
woman  isn't  earning  her  living,  but  dying  a  slow 
death,  unless  she  finds  work  for  her  heart  as  well  as 
her  hands ;  if  she  is  to  be  the  whole  creature  God 
made  her,  and  not  only  half  a  one,  she's  got  to 
serve  and  help  somebody.  And  there's  lots  of  ways 
come  to  her  in  time.  It  is  not  God's  work  in  the 
world  that  is  running  short,  but  the  eyes  and  hands 
to  see  and  seize  it' 

'  Do  you  think  I,  too,  shall  find  God's  work  among 
my  selling  books  and  account  -  keeping  } '  asked 
Chrissy.  'That  will  be  something  better  to  think 
of  than  only  of  getting  on :  that  could  make  one 
content  if  one  happened  never  to  get  on.' 

*  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  find  it,'  answered  Miss 
Griffin.     *  You  know  the  verse, — 

"  Wherever  in  the  world  I  am. 

In  whatsoe'er  estate, 
I  have  a  fellowship  with  hearts 

To  keep  and  cultivate  ; 
And  a  work  of  lowly  love  to  do 

For  the  Lord  on  whom  I  wait." 

That  wasn't  written  when  I  was  a  girl,  but  directly 


io8  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

I  read  it  I  said,  "That's  exactly  what  I've  been 
trying  to  put  into  words,"  And  that  verse  keeps 
saying  itself  over  to  me  as  nothing  else  ever  does, 
except  "Who  ran  to  kiss  me  when  I  fell,"  and 
"  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee,"  and  other  bits  I 
learnt  almost  in  my  cradle.  And  now  I  think  we'll 
go  to  bed  early  to-night,  for  you  must  be  tired  out, 
and  when  I've  been  thinking  over  old  things,  I  like 
to  go  and  lie  quiet  in  the  dark.  Don't  you  think 
the  angels  may  see  us  best  then,  and  speak  to  our 
hearts  in  the  silence  .''  I've  lived  so  much  alone, 
my  dear,  that  I  expect  I  shall  be  talking  some  of 
my  strange  fancies  aloud  to  you  now.' 

*  I  have  some  strange  fancies  too,'  said  Chrissy ; 
*  and  some  of  them  help  me  to  try  to  be  good. 
Don't  you  think  fancies,  like  people,  should  be  known 
by  their  fruits  ? ' 

*  Ay,  my  child,*  said  Miss  Griffin  ;  *  and  there's  a 
sort  of  common  sense  which  seems  to  me  like  an 
air-pump  I  once  saw  at  work  at  a  lecture.  It  only 
pumped  away  the  air ;  everything  looked  exactly 
the  same  in  the  vessel  from  which  the  air  had  been 
pumped,  only  whatever  had  life  began  to  faint  away, 
and  would  have  died  if  the  pump  hadn't  been  stopped 
and  air  let  in  again.  Our  very  bodies  can't  exist 
without  the  air  which  we  cannot  see,  and  I  reckon 
our  souls  are  much  the  same  without  faith,  and  I 
expect  that  is  what  you  and  I  really  mean  when  we 


IN  THE  SKY-PARLOUR.  109 

say  "  fancies,"  and  maybe  we'd  be  wiser  if  we  used 
the  right  word,  so  that  nobody  can  misunderstand 
us.  And  now,  my  dear,  you  are  not  to  get  up  when 
you  hear  me  moving  in  the  morning,  for  I  shall  be 
astir  extra  early  for  some  time  to  come.' 

*  How  is  that  ? '  asked  Chrissy,  in  alarm  lest  her 
presence  imposed  some  additional  duty  on  her  kind 
hostess. 

'Well,'  said  Miss  Griffin,  clearing  away  the  tea- 
things,  *we  wanted  an  extra  charwoman  in  the 
offices,  and  I've  got  leave  to  employ  poor  Esther 
Gray.  The  masters  were  against  it  at  first.  They 
said  it  was  offering  encouragement  to  a  bad  character. 
But  I  talked  them  round.  "  To  give  work  like  our 
charing  to  such  a  woman  as  Esther  Gray  might  have 
been  is  no  encouragement,  but  a  severe  penance 
which  she  won't  take  unless  she's  in  earnest  to  do 
better."  And  they  let  me  have  my  own  way.  But 
it  wouldn't  do  to  have  Esther  about  the  place  when 
the  office  people  begin  to  come,  as  the  other  char- 
women may  be  against  it;  indeed,  she  said  to  me 
herself  that  she  could  not  stand  that ;  the  very  looks | 
they'd  give  would  drive  her  wild,  and  send  her  back( 
to  drink  and  misery.  So  I  said  she  could  come 
earlier,  and  I  could  easily  get  up  and  let  her  in.' 

'Good-night,  Miss  Griffin,'  said  Chrissy.  'I  feel 
quite  happy  now.  What  you  have  said  has  helped 
me,  and  what  you  are  inspires  me.' 


no  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

*  Dear,  dear !  to  hear  her  talk  ! '  exclaimed  the  old 
lady,  after  she  had  cordially  returned  the  girl's  warm 
kiss,  and  had  shut  herself  into  her  own  little  chamber. 
'  It  was  just  the  sight  of  the  brave  young  thing 
going  out  to  fight  her  own  battle  which  gave  me 
courage  to  think  what  a  poor  old  simpleton  I  had 
been  when  I  started,  and  how  God  had  smoothed 
and  brightened  the  way  even  for  me.  I  can  trust 
her  with  Him.  He  won't  forget  his  young  lions 
when  they  cry  to  Him,  since  He  does  not  even 
forget  His  poor  old  sheep  like  me.' 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HANS   KRINKEN. 


HRISSY  MILLER  soon  found 
that  there  were  plenty  of  little 
interests  and  duties  springing  up 
by  the  wayside  of  her  life.  To 
begin  with,  the  new  bookseller, 
a  Mr.  Bisset,  a  fellow-country- 
man of  her  father's,  was  a  young 
man,  and  had  brought  a  young 
wife  from  her  own  kith  and  kin 
in  the  North  to  the  crowded  lonesomeness  of  London. 
She  had  grown  nervous  and  low-spirited  before  she 
came  to  Shield  Street.  It  was  like  a  Godsend  to 
her  when  her  husband  told  her  of  the  arrangement 
he  had  made  with  the  late  bookseller's  daughter. 

*  If  she  will  come,  will  you  let  her  go  with  me  for 
a  walk  sometimes  ? '  she  asked.  *  She  will  know  all 
the  turnings,  and  will  keep  me  from  being  frightened 

at  the  busy  driving  to  and  fro.' 

Ill 


112  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

*  She  shall  go  with  you  whenever  I  can  possibly- 
spare  her,'  said  the  husband.  '  I  daresay  she'll  be 
glad  of  the  change.  And  exercise  and  a  cheerful 
companion  will  soon  bring  back  your  bloom  and 
merriment.  Is  it  not  a  terrible  thing  that  you  do 
not  find  your  husband  himself  a  sufficing  joy?'  He 
laughed,  happily  confident  that  one  half  of  her 
nervous  terrors  and  depression  arose  from  anxiety 
over  his  prospects  and  his  delicate  health.  And  he 
thought  silently,  'That  young  Miss  Miller  has  a 
sweet,  sensible  face  ;  but  if  she  had  not  had  so  much 
sorrow  and  loss  herself  lately,  she  might  be  a  more 
inspiriting  companion  for  my  poor  lassie.' 

That  was  all  he  knew !  for  men  are  very  simple 
creatures  about  some  things.  How  could  he  be 
expected  to  imagine  that  the  sight  of  one  who  was 
still  able  to  live  brightly,  and  to  smile  and  sing 
after  'the  worst  had  come  to  the  worst,'  as  Mrs. 
Bisset  expressed  it,  was  exactly  the  tonic  required 
by  that  solicitous,  forecasting  little  woman  ? 

How  surprised  the  young  bookseller  was  when  his 
wife  came  to  him  one  evening  in  the  counting-house, 
— the  very  counting-house  where  Chrissy  and  her 
father  had  talked  together, — and,  putting  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  told  him  that  she  saw  how  wrong 
and  foolish  she  had  been  to  worry  and  forebode,  and 
spoil  life's  sunshine  to-day  for  fear  it  should  be 
eclipsed  to-morrow ! 


HANS  KRINKEN.  113 

'  Even  if  it  is,'  she  added,  with  shining,  tearful  eyes, 
*  it  will  shirje  again  the  day  after.  Just  think  of  our 
Miss  Miller ! ' 

And  even  in  her  simple  manifold  labours  in  the 
shop,  Chrissy  soon  learned,  as  Miss  Griffin  had  done 
in  her  time,  how  much  influence  lies  in  very  lowly, 
unregarded  places.     She  found  how  often  she  could  / 
recommend  one  book,  and  withdraw  another  from 
notice,  and  how  a  little  judgment  and  tact  presently 
gave  weight  to  her  recommendations,  so  that  they  / 
were  sought  again.     She  found  how  much  time  and 
temper  she  could  save  for  busy  people  by  a  con-  / 
siderate  hint  or  suggestion  ;   how  often  she  could 
help  the  ignorant  to  economy,  or  direct  a  confused 
taste. 

These  were  the  discoveries  which  lightened  her 
heart  and  took  the  sting  from  many  a  wound  she 
received  in  those  early  days  of  independence. 
Sophia  Ackroyd  passed  her  in  the  street  with  the 
briefest  of  nods,  and  gave  her  no  greeting  beyond  a 
cool  'Good  morning,'  when  she  had  occasion  to 
enter  the  shop.  And  Chrissy  knew  that  the  distance 
between  them  originated  not  in  Mr.  Ackroyd's 
having  ruined  her  father,  but  in  her  father's  ruin 
having  made  his  child  into  '  a  shop-girl.' 

It  is  very  easy  to  say  that  one  should  take  such 
people  at  their  real  value,  and  hold  oneself  above 
such  petty  contumelies ;   but,  in  truth,  it  is  not  the 


114  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

noblest  or  the  gentlest  heart  which  most  readily 
accepts  the  baseness  of  one's  fellow-creatures  as  a 
natural  thing,  and  which  is  not  surprised  at  the 
injustice  or  wrong-headedness  of  the  world.  God 
does  not  mean  the  young  to  have  all  the  quiet, 
patient  wisdom  of  the  old.  He  wants  their  burning 
hearts  and  struggling  hands  in  His  service  first, 
destroying  and  pulling  down  as  much  evil  as  they  can  ; 
and  then  He  will  give  them  faith  and  contentment 
that  what  they  have  not  conquered  shall  still  be 
conquered,  and  that,  in  the  meantime,  what  God  can 
suffer  they  too  can  endure. 

But  best  of  all  to  Chrissy  was  something  which 
presented  itself  as  in  no  sense  a  duty,  but  as  only 
a  sweet  natural  incident — the  growing  friendship 
between  herself  and  the  German  lad  Hans  Krinken. 
Little  by  little,  by  no  express  confidence,  but  in  the 
chance  remarks  of  daily  intercourse,  Chrissy  learned 
his  history,  and  caught  glimpses  of  the  quaint  interior 
in  which  Hans  had  been  reared.  She  learned  about 
the  good  grandfather,  busy  from  morning  till  night 
at  his  trade,  polishing  spectacle-glasses ;  while  the 
grandmother  sat  and  knitted  in  the  great  flowered 
chair  in  the  chimney-corner.  The  grandmother  had 
been  only  a  peasant  woman,  full  of  the  sharp 
fragmentary  wisdom  of  her  class ;  the  grandfather 
had  been  something  more,  and  had  evidently  been  a 
philosopher  in  his  own  way. 


«? 


HANS  KRINKEN.  115 

*  He  had  been  intended  for  one  of  the  learned 
professions,'  Hans  said  one  day  ;  '  but  he  could  not 
satisfy  himself  that  he  was  fit  for  any  of  them,  and 
so  he  took  to  the  spectacle-making.  "  One  can't  be 
wrong  in  making  eyesight  go  a  little  further  than  it 
otherwise  might,  and  one's  customers  will  keep  one 
up  to  the  mark  at  that  work,"  he  used  to  say.' 

Hans  never  spoke  of  his  father  or  mother.  They 
seemed  to  have  died  before  his  recollection — at  least 
Chrissy  thought  so.  When  the  good  old  couple  died 
— the  old  man  last — they  had  left  no  money  behind 
them.  It  was  in  obedience  to  his  grandfather's  wish 
that  Hans  had  come  to  England.  His  grandfather 
had  never  given  any  express  reason  for  this  wish ; 
but  his  grandmother  had  backed  it  up  by  the  words, 
*  You'll  be  left  alone  in  the  world.  Lonely  people 
are  less  lonely  in  strange  places.  There's  no  place 
so  foreign  as  the  old  chimney-corner  when  the  old 
faces  are  out  of  it.' 

The  old  household  gods  of  the  lowly  German  home 
had  been  sold  to  pay  the  boy's  expenses.  While 
the  sale  was  going  on  in  Shield  Street,  and  when 
Hans  saw  the  pained  expression  of  Chrissy 's  face, 
as  the  desire  for  a  good  bargain  overcame  some 
neighbour's  sense  of  kindly  propriety,  he  had  slipped 
up  behind  her  and  whispered, — 

'  I  have  seen  all  this  before.  One  outlives  it ;  one 
even  forgets  it' 


ii6  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Hans  had  had  terrible  days  when  he  first  arrived 
in  London.  His  little  store  had  been  speedily 
exhausted.  He  had  sunk  lower  and  lower.  The 
pet  of  the  good  old  grandfather  had  seen  and  felt 
the  wild  and  sordid  miseries  of  the  common  lodging- 
houses.  Once,  when  a  hungry-looking  lad  came 
singing  down  Shield  Street,  Chrissy  noticed  Hans 
draw  from  his  pocket  a  leathern  purse,  which  she 
had  never  seen  on  any  other  occasion,  and  take  from 
it  a  silver  coin,  which  he  handed  to  the  youth  with  a 
few  words  which  made  the  boy  stand  watching  him 
back  into  the  shop. 

*  I've  heard  it  said  that  one  should  not  give  to 
beggars  in  the  street,'  Chrissy  observed. 

*  Where  the  face  is  pinched  with  hunger,  pain,  or 
age,  one  need  ask  no  questions,  for  the  want  is 
clearly  there,'  said  Hans,  with  a  strange,  dreamy  look 
on  his  face. 

*  But  that  was  a  great  deal  for  you  to  give,'  Chrissy 
ventured  to  add. 

He  looked  at  her.  *  I  seemed  to  give  it  to  myself,' 
he  said.     *  I  stood  singing  so  once.     I  told  him  so.' 

Chrissy  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  asked 
softly, — 

*  Did  not  all  this  suffering  ever  make  you  wish  you 
had  disobeyed  your  grandfather's  wish,  and  stayed 
in  Germany?' 

Hans   shook   his    head    slowly   as   he    answered, 


BANS  KRINKEN.  1 1 7 

*  Perhaps  it  did  sometimes,  and  yet  again  it  didn't. 
One  must  meet  troubles  somehow ;  grandmother 
used  to  say  that  Hfe  without  them  would  be  like  a 
pudding  without  its  cloth  ;  it  wouldn't  hold  together. 
And  one  can't  meet  them  better  than  when  one  is 
following  the  advice  of  a  good  counsellor,  I  don't 
know  what  might  have  happened  to  me  if  I  had 
stayed  at  home ;  and  the  worst  I've  been  through 
has  ended  in  my  being  here.' 

*  Do  you  ever  write  to  anybody  in  the  old  place  ? ' 
Chrissy  asked. 

*I  haven't  yet,'  Hans  replied.  'I've  only  one 
friend  there,  a  boy  who  used  to  go  to  school  with 
me,  and  he  was  a  wild,  wilful  fellow,  set  on  his  own 
way,  so  I  was  determined  I  would  not  let  him  know 
the  troubles  I'd  got  into  through  obeying  grandfather 
till  I'd  got  through  them.  But  I'll  write  to  him 
to-night.     I'm  all  right  now.' 

And  so  Chrissy  in  her  turn  received  a  lesson  in 
contentment.  For  the  lot  with  which  Hans  was  so 
satisfied  looked  hard  and  poor  enough,  even  from 
her  new  standpoint.  For  he  had  started  penniless — 
decently  clothed  only  by  her  father's  charity,  though 
Chrissy  did  not  know  that  then — and  his  wage  was 
only  the  poor  pittance  earned  by  manual  labour. 

But  a  happy  heart  can  make  a  hard  life  bright, 
just  as  sunshine  lends  a  charm  to  the  most 
monotonous  scenery. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


chrissy's  holiday. 


T  was  a  long  time  before  Chrissy 
again  met  her  sister  Helen. 

Madame  Vinet's  junior  appren- 
tice always  remained  on  the 
establishment  during  Sunday, 
while  from  certain  exigencies  of 
its  business,  the  shop  in  Shield 
Street  was  not  able  to  conform 
to  the  hours  of  the  Saturday  half- 
holiday,  the  season  when  Helen  Miller  seemed  to 
pay  a  tolerably  regular  visit  to  Aunt  Kezia.  Helen 
was  obliged  to  return  to  Madame  Vinet's  establish- 
ment just  at  the  hour  when  the  shutters  were  being 
put  up  in  the  old  home.  Cross  circumstances  like 
these  often  sorely  mar  the  leisure  and  enjoyment 
of  working  people. 

Yet  Chrissy  fancied — and  then  blamed  herself  for 


the  fancy- 


-that  if  she  had  been  the  one  at  liberty, 

118 


CHRISS  Y  'S  HO  LI  DA  Y.  119 

she  would  have  had  some  plan  for  catching  at  least 
a  glimpse  of  her  sister.  She  would  have  walked 
into  the  old  house  and  bought  a  trifle  over  the 
counter,  for  the  opportunity  of  exchanging  a  few 
words.  But  Helen  did  not  seem  to  think  of  this  ; 
and  Chrissy  shrank  back  from  reminding  her.  We 
never  get  any  satisfaction  from  forms  of  love  which 
we  have  shaped  for  ourselves,  however  they  may  fit 
our  own  wishes.  The  clumsiest  scheme  worked  out 
by  love  itself  comes  sweeter  to  us,  though  we  may 
be  able  to  enjoy  it  only  by  the  help  of  a  great  deal 
of '  make-believe.' 

Chrissy  felt  this,  and  felt  as  if  it  was  only  selfish 
pride  which  kept  her  from  giving  Helen  the  hint. 
She  was  certain  that  Helen  would  do  anything  that 
was  kind — if  only  she  thought  of  it !  And  did  she 
not  often  send  Chrissy  a  little  note,  hastily  enough 
written  perhaps,  but  at  least  beginning  and  ending 
with  expressions  of  warm  endearment  ? 

By  these  little  notes,  Chrissy  learned  that  Sophia 
and  James  Ackroyd  had  more  than  once  been  Aunt 
Kezia's  guests  at  the  same  time  as  Helen.  Once  or 
twice  James  Ackroyd  had  escorted  Helen  home  to 
Madame  Vinet's,  and  then  returned  to  Aunt  Kezia's 
to  accompany  his  sister  back  to  Shield  Street. 
Chrissy,  in  daily  attendance  in  the  old  shop  next 
door  to  the  Ackroyds'  home,  saw  wonderfully  little 
of  them.     Certainly   they  never   brought  her  any 


I20  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

message  from  Helen.  Chrissy  was  not  sorry  to  see 
little  of  Mr.  Ackroyd  himself,  but  it  pained  her  to 
miss  James  so  entirely  out  of  her  life.  He  had 
associated  with  the  Miller  girls  in  that  easy,  happy 
camaraderie,  which  comes  with  old  neighbourhood 
or  cousinship,  and  which,  as  life  passes  on,  may 
ripen  into  the  most  reliable  of  friendships. 

Chrissy  could  not  believe  that  James  shunned  her 
because  the  bookseller's  daughter  had  changed  into 
the  bookseller's  shop-girl — a  subtle  loss  of  caste, 
which  she  well  knew  would  quite  account  for  the 
change  in  Sophia  Ackroyd's  manner  towards  her. 
But  Chrissy  could  not  help  remembering  her  whis- 
pered interview  with  James  across  the  back-yard  on 
the  night  of  her  father's  death.  What  had  he 
known  then  ?  Or  what  had  he  feared  ?  She  could 
remember  the  very  words  which  had  passed  between 
them  :  his  question, '  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't 
know  there  is  something  ? '  her  reply,  '  Yes,  I  do.' 
How  much,  and  what,  had  he  believed  she  knew  ? 

And  then  Chrissy  felt  half-glad  not  to  see  much 
of  James.  How  could  she  confront  him  with  a  sus- 
picion of  his  father  in  her  heart?  Only  when, 
peeping  between  her  book-shelves,  she  saw  him  pass 
down  Shield  Street,  she  was-  sorry  to  fancy  that  he 
did  not  look  quite  himself,  but  seemed  dark  and 
moody.  She  comforted  herself  that  this  was  but 
her  own  fancy,  born  of  her  secret  knowledge  and 


CHRISS  y  'S  HO  LI  DA  V.  121 

silent  cogitations.  She  did  not  know  that  more 
than  one  old  neighbour  had  remarked  that  *  young 
Ackroyd  was  not  improving.' 

At  last  Chrissy  found  she  could  look  forward  to 
a  free  Saturday.  The  moment  she  heard  this,  she 
wrote  to  Aunt  Kezia  to  say  she  should  pay  her  a 
visit,  and  so  meet  Helen.  She  did  certainly  expect 
an  answer,  but,  as  none  came,  she  interpreted  silence 
to  mean  assent,  and  started  off  the  moment  the 
shop  was  shut,  or  rather  before  the  shop  was  shut, 
for  Hans  Krinken  paused  with  a  shutter  in  his  hand 
to  watch  her  neat  little  figure  moving  down  the 
street.  He  was  unconsciously  receiving  impressions 
which  were  to  fix  his  standard  of  beauty  and  worth 
for  ever. 

Aunt  Kezia  lived  in  a  house  of  the  kind  which 
give  shrewd  observers  an  idea  of  property  in  the 
funds.  It  was  small,  gloomy,  and  shabby,  but 
with  gloom  and  shabbiness  quite  different  from 
those  of  poverty.  The  furniture  was  old  and 
ugly,  but  it  had  been  costly  when  new,  and  that  in 
the  best  rooms  had  not  only  never  been  used,  but 
had  been  preserved  with  every  device  of  cover  and 
drawn  blind  from  those  atmospheric  influences 
which,  left  to  themselves,  will  mercifully  subdue  the 
most  garish  upholstery  into  artistic  *  repose.'  What 
Helen  called  Aunt  Kezia's  'love  of  things,'  was 
manifest   in    the    heterogeneous    mass    of  articles 


122  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

which  she  had  gathered  together,  without  any 
relation  to  each  other  or  to  her  own  requirements. 
Only  one  requirement  she  apparently  never  had — the 
I  need  for  the  beautiful.  She  bought  tea-spoons  and 
cake-baskets,  not  pictures  or  statuary.  In  Aunt 
Kezia's  house,  stuffed  full  of  'things,'  ornament  was 
represented  by  three  huge  Bohemian  glass  vases 
and  two  pictures,  one  representing  the  death  of 
Abel,  and  the  other  the  burning  of  Archbishop 
Cranmer.  They  were  so  dim  and  old  that  they 
might  assume  the  dignity  of  heirlooms.  But  in 
reality  they  had  been  thrown  into  lots  at  sales,  to 
get  them  out  of  the  auctioneer's  way.  One  had  been 
bought  with  a  set  of  dish-covers,  the  other  with  a 
kitchen  fender.  Aunt  Kezia  was  a  great  frequenter 
of  sales — especially  sales  in  private  houses.  Most 
of  her  bargains  had  a  flavour  of  tears  and  ruin 
about  them. 

Chrissy  found  Helen  already  with  her  aunt.  Helen 
rushed  upon  Chrissy,  and  embraced  her  warmly. 
Aunt  Kezia  said, — 

*  Dear  me,  child  !  is  your  work  wearing  you  thin  ? 
Or  does  not  your  dress  suit  you  ?  There's  some- 
thing wrong  about  you  surely.  Or  perhaps  it  is 
only  seeing  you  beside  Helen ;  though  I  used  to 
think  you  would  be  the  better-looking  of  the  two. 
But  circumstances  alter  cases — and  faces  as  well.' 

Helen  was  certainly  a  very  brilliant  young  damsel, 


CBRISS  Y'S  HO  LI  DA  Y.  123 

and  Chrissy  thought  so,  and  was  quite  content  to  be 
second  to  the  beloved  sister,  utterly  unaware  that 
any  artist's  eye  would  have  passed  over  Helen's 
befringed  brow  and  befrilled  dress  to  rest  on  her 
expressive  face  and  the  graceful  lines  of  her  simple 
garments. 

*  I  don't  suppose  you'll  have  much  news  to  give 
me,'  Miss  Kezia  went  on.  '  Helen  always  brings  me 
quite  a  budget,  descriptions  of  the  grand  ladies  who 
have  called  at  Madame  Vinet's,  and  the  dresses  they 
have  ordered,  and  little  secrets  about  the  fashions 
that  are  coming  out.  It's  wonderful  to  me  how 
people  can  spend  such  sums  of  money  on  them- 
selves.    It's  terrible  to  think  of.' 

'  It  is  certainly  thriftier  to  do  what  you  do,  aunt,' 
laughed  Helen,  and  then  narrated  to  Chrissy,  '  Aunt 
goes  through  the  fashion-books  and  decides  what 
material  she  would  prefer  and  what  style  she  would 
choose,  and  then  shuts  the  book  and  goes  on 
wearing  her  dear  old  satin.  Oh,  auntie,  auntie,'  cried 
the  girl,  who  seemed  quite  a  privileged  person  in  the 
stiff  old  house,  '  it  is  no  use  to  make  believe  you  are 
not  fond  of  dress !  you  are  only  much  fonder  of 
your  money ! ' 

'You  are  a  saucy  chit,'  said  the  old  lady,  smiling, 
and  almost  blushing  under  the  imputation,  which, 
far  from  displeasing  her,  did  rather  the  reverse.  '  I 
never  was  reckoned  fond   of  dress,'  she  remarked 


124  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

impressively,  '  but  I  like  to  see  people  well  dressed ; 
indeed,  it's  a  mark  of  proper  respect  to  one's  betters. 
People  with  means  of  their  own  may  do  as  they 
please,  of  course  ;  but  those  who  have  their  way  to 
make  must  take  care  to  be  acceptable  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  It  is  very  vexatious  to  see  scrubby-looking 
poor  relations  going  about,  causing  strangers  to  say 
that  their  kin  ought  to  do  more  for  them.' 

*  Now  how  glad  I  am  I  bought  this  new  dress  ! ' 
cried  Helen,  *  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me 
extravagant,  but  my  first  mourning  was  getting  so 
shabby.' 

'  And  you  must  do  credit  to  Madame  Vinet,'  said 
Miss  Daffy,  rising  and  feeling  the  material  of  her 
niece's  skirt.  '  That  is  a  pleasure  to  touch,  Helen. 
You  must  have  paid  dearly  for  that,  though  I 
suppose  you  would  get  it  at  a  reduction.' 

'  I  did  pay  dearly  for  it,'  Helen  admitted,  finding 
herself  on  safe  ground.  'Shall  I  own  the  whole  truth? 
I've  been  boarding  with  Madame  Vinet  for  four 
months,  and  you  know  my  salary  is  only  a  trifle,  and 
every  penny  of  it  has  gone  into  that  dress.  I  had  set 
my  heart  on  it,'  she  pleaded  bewitchingly,  'and  I'm 
well  stocked  with  other  clothes ;  I  shan't  need  any- 
thing else  for  a  long  time.  I  know  you  have  always 
said  that  good  things  are  the  cheapest  in  the  end.' 

'  But  there  may  be  good  calico  as  well  as  good 
silk,'  Chrissy  ventured  to  interrupt. 


CBRISSY'S  HO  LID  A  Y.  125 

*  Well,  you  that  can't  get  much  money  can  hardly 
do  better  with  it  than  put  it  into  handsome  clothes, 
which  give  you  a  comfortable,  satisfactory  appear- 
ance,' said  Aunt  Kezia.  '  Helen  has  a  right  to  do 
what  she  likes  with  her  money,  and  I  can't  see  how 
she  could  have  done  better.  It's  a  sort  of  invest- 
ment for  her.' 

'  Only  if  one  wanted  the  money  instead  ? '  Chrissy 
suggested  timidly. 

'  What  could  she  want  the  money  for  ? '  asked 
Aunt  Kezia.  *  She  won't  want  any  for  herself,  she 
says ;  and  you  two  have  got  nobody  to  look  to  you 
for  anything,  thank  goodness ! ' 

Chrissy  sighed. 

'  You  must  smarten  up  too,'  said  Aunt  Kezia. 
*  You  get  much  higher  wages  than  Helen,  only  of 
course  you  have  to  pay  Miss  Griffin,  though  she 
oughtn't  to  charge  you  much  for  sharing  with  her ; 
and  I  hope  you  look  out  sharply  to  see  she  doesn't 
impose  upon  you.  I  suppose  any  shabby  clothes 
which  are  decent,  are  good  enough  for  you  during  your 
working  hours  and  at  home  in  the  evening  ;  but  that 
is  only  the  more  reason  for  your  keeping  something 
very  nice  for  special  occasions.  What  are  you  think- 
ing of  for  your  change  of  mourning  ?  You  needn't 
wear  much  crape  for  more  than  six  months,  you 
know.  A  fine  cashmere  made  up  with  crape-cloth 
would  be  becoming  ;  and  they  are  all  the  fashion.' 


126  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  I  have  enough  dresses  to  last  me  till  next  spring 
without  buying  anything,'  said  Chrissy  bravely ; 
'and  I  have  resolved  never  to  buy  any  dress  which 
will  not  be  suitable  for  a  working  dress  when  its  best 
days  are  over.' 

*  Chrissy  wants  to  make  her  fortune.  I'm  sure  you 
ought  to  approve  that  laudable  ambition,  aunt,' 
remarked  Helen  mischievously. 

Miss  Kezia  sniffed.  '  Chrissy  may  want  what  she 
chooses,'  she  said.  *  She  won't  be  able  to  do  it. 
Women  only  get  fortunes  by  inheriting  them  or 
marrying  them.  And  men  look  for  something  in 
their  wives.  Girls  with  no  establishments  of  their 
own  must  be  very  particular  about  their  appearance 
and  their  manners  and  opinions,  else  they  will 
offend  where  it  would  be  their  interest  to  please.' 

*  Did  you  hear  Aunt  Kezia  on  the  duties  of 
portionless  maidens  ? '  laughed  Helen,  adverting  to 
this  speech,  as,  later  in  the  evening,  she  accepted 
Chrissy's  company  in  her  walk  back  to  Madame 
Vinet's. 

'  I  don't  believe  Aunt  Kezia  means  all  she  says,' 
returned  Chrissy. 

'  She  feels  that  single  blessedness  is  reserved  for 
the  well-to-do,  like  herself,'  Helen  went  on.  '  Poor 
girls,  like  us,  owe  it  to  society  to  get  married  and 
relieve  our  relations  of  all  responsibility  concerning 
us.     Well,  it  must  be  awful  to  be  a  poor  old  maid. 


CHUISS  Y'S  HO  LID  A  V.  127 

Almost  as  bad  as  to  be  a  poor  wife — but  that  deepest 
depth  is  one's  own  fault.  I  wonder  where  Aunt 
Kezia  will  leave  her  money  ;  she  ought  to  divide  it 
between  us  two.' 

'  Helen,  Helen,'  cried  Chrissy,  *  do  not  speak — do 
not  think  of  such  things.  It  is  not  helpful ;  it  is  not 
right.' 

'  But  money  is,'  said  Helen  almost  gloomily. 
*  Every  day  I  see  more  what  money  can  do.  You, 
poked  up  in  Shield  Street,  scarcely  know  what  we 
have  missed  through  being  left  so  poor.' 

'All  that  I  miss  much  is  father,'  said  Chrissy 
softly ;  *  and  rich  girls'  fathers  die,  as  well  as 
poor  ones'.'  But  she  broke  off  there,  with  the 
sudden  reflection  that,  but  for  the  ruin  which  had 
overtaken  them,  her  father  might  be  living  yet. 
It  was  hard  to  accept  the  hand  of  God  behind  the 
blow  dealt  by  that  treacherous  neighbour,  Mr. 
Ackroyd. 

Just  as  his  name  was  in  Chrissy's  thoughts, 
Helen  said, — 

*  I  suppose  you  don't  see  much  of  the  Ackroyds  ? 
Sophia  makes  believe  she  is  afraid  of  you,  because 
you  must  be  so  eccentric  and  strong-minded,  to  take 
up  such  a  strange  way  of  life.  I  know'  it's  only 
make-believe.  She'd  make  up  some  such  fable  to 
excuse  passing  over  me,  if  she  had  to  see  me  at  my 
work.     But  she  accepts  me  as  Miss  Daffy's  niece,  not 


128  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

as  Madame  Vinet's  apprentice.  And  isn't  she 
jealous  of  James !  As  if  she  could  expect  to  keep 
him  to  herself  for  ever ! ' 

The  sisters  had  known  no  brother,  except  the  little 
dead  boy  they  scarcely  remembered — that  little  baby 
brother,  whose  broken  toy  had  passed  from  her 
father's  keeping  into  her  own.  Chrissy's  sister-love 
was  not  less  tender  and  sensitive  because  it  was  ideal, 
and  Helen's  tone  and  words  alike  jarred  Chrissy. 

*  She  was  so  vexed  when  James  asked  my  advice, 
and  it  went  counter  to  hers,'  Helen  went  on,  in 
reckless  triumph.  "  The  time  has  come  when  James 
has  got  to  settle  finally  what  he  will  be.  Sophy, 
going  in  for  gentility,  wants  him  to  be  a  doctor — "  a 
professional  gentleman,"  as  she  says.  That  was 
the  original  idea  in  the  Ackroyd  family.  But  now 
James  has  a  chance  of  entering  the  office  of  a  friend 
of  his  father's,  a  stock  and  share  broker.  It  would 
be  sure  to  end  in  a  partnership,  he  says.' 

'  And  which  will  he  choose  to  take  ? '  asked 
Chrissy. 

*  He'd  like  to  be  a  doctor,'  Helen  narrated  ;  *  but 
then,  as  he  says,  fortune  is  on  the  other  side.  He 
says  his  father  would  have  made  a  bare  income  as 
an  architect.  Whatever  money  he  has  made  has 
been  by  speculation.' 

'  I  don't  think  Mr.  Ackroyd  attended  very  strictly 
to  his  professional  work,'  observed  Chrissy. 


CHRISS  V  'S  HO  LTD  A  V.  129 

'  Oh,  but  it  is  the  same  with  everybody,'  observed 
Helen.  '  Men  who  really  succeed  in  their  professions 
cannot  make  as  much  money  in  twenty  years  as 
others  do  with  one  lucky  stroke  in  stocks  and  shares. 
James  says  so.  So  I  said  to  him,  "  If  that  is  the 
case,  I  cannot  understand  why  you  hesitate  for  a 
moment."  And  so  he  has  decided.  And  Sophia  is 
so  cross.     She  had  advised  for  the  doctor.' 

*  I  think  I  should  have  agreed  with  her,'  said 
Chrissy.  And  remembering  Sophia's  last  curt  nod, 
it  cost  her  something  to  say  this. 

'  Why  so  ? '  asked  Helen  quickly. 

*  Because  I'd  rather  have  some  other  end  in  my 
daily  work  than  money-making  only.' 

*  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ? '  said  Helen,  evidently  re- 
lieved. *  Sophia  doesn't  think  about  that.  It's  the 
gentility  she  is  aiming  at.  It's  the  very  same  feeling 
which  makes  her  snub  you  for  serving  in  a  shop. 
And  now  you  needn't  come  any  further.  Madame 
Vinet's  door  is  in  sight.  James  Ackroyd  has  brought 
me  home  the  last  two  Saturday  nights,  and  I  don't 
want  the  girls  to  know  he  is  not  here  to-night. 
And  it's  time  you  were  at  home,  too,  though  you  are 
such  a  discreet,  sober-looking  little  body  that  one 
could  trust  you  anywhere.' 

She  extended  her  hand.  Chrissy  held  it  lingcr- 
ingly.  Were  they  to  part  like  this?  What  had 
become  of  the  best  side   of  Helen?     What  would 


I30  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

their  father  have  said  if  he  had  heard  her  talk  to- 
night ? 

'Any  messages  for  our  old  friends,  Helen?'  she 
asked. 

*  Our  old  friends ! '  Helen  echoed,  with  a  light 
laugh.  '  Oh !  give  the  correct  civilities  to  Miss 
Griffin.  And  stop  ! — is  that  stupid  German  still  in 
the  shop  ,•'     I  quite  forgot  to  ask.' 

*  He  will  soon  be  too  good  for  the  shop,'  said 
Chrissy,  with  a  curious  feeling  of  pique.  '  He  is  so 
already.  Only  he  is  one  of  those  people  who  don't 
make  haste  to  change.' 

'  A  model  of  all  the  virtues,'  said  Helen.  *  Well, 
good  night,  darling.' 

Chrissy  sped  citywards  with  a  very  unsatisfied 
heart.  She  had  looked  forward  to  this  holiday,  and 
it  had  disappointed  her.  Aunt  Kezia  and  sister 
Helen  were  vestiges  of  the  old  happy  life  which  had 
been  so  hard  to  give  up,  and  yet  it  seemed  a  relief 
to  return  to  the  thought  of  her  daily  toil  and  her 
fellow- workers. 

When  she  reached  Miss  Griffin's  house,  to  her 
astonishment  she  found  Hans  Krinken  leaning 
against  the  door-post 

*  Oh,  Hans  ! '  she  cried,  '  is  anything  the  matter  ? 
'  Have  you  been  up-stairs } ' 

'No,  Miss  Christina,'  he  said.  *I  waited  here 
for  you.     You  remember,  months   ago,   I  wrote  a 


CBRISS  Y  'S  HO  LID  A  V.  131 

letter  to   a   schoolfellow   in    my   native   village   in 
Germany  ? ' 

*  I  remember  perfectly,'  Chrissy  replied.  '  I  have 
often  wondered  whether  you  got  an  answer.  I  have 
meant  to  ask  you.' 

'  An  answer  has  come  to-night.  It  has  come  from 
America.  My  schoolfellow  has  gone  there,  and  my 
letter  was  sent  out  after  him.' 

'  But  he  left  the  village  after  you  did,'  said  Chrissy; 
'  so  I  hope  he  has  given  you  some  later  news.' 

'  Some  strange  news,'  said  Hans,  in  a  low  tremulous 
voice.  '  Very  soon  after  I  left  the  place,  a  stranger 
in  a  grand  coach  came  making  inquiries  after  me.' 

'  Oh,  what  a  pity  you  were  away  ! '  cried  Chrissy. 
'  And  you  suffering  so  much  at  the  very  time  !  And 
haven't  you  the  least  idea  who  the  stranger  was  ? ' 

Hans  shook  his  head,  but  didn't  speak. 

*  I  hope  you  are  not  very  sorry  you  came  away,' 
said  Chrissy.  *  But  isn't  it  a  pity  that  nobody  could 
give  him  an  address  where  he  might  have  written  to 
you } ' 

'  Miss  Christina,'  said  Hans,  speaking  with  some 
emotion,  his  German  accent  returning  under  the 
influence  of  a  strong  feeling,  '  Miss  Christina,  to- 
night I  am  more  glad  than  ever  that  I  came  away. 
Perhaps  my  grandfather  expected  the  coming  of  this 
stranger.  Perhaps  it  was  that  expectation  that  gave 
him  some  good  reason  for  the  advice  he  gave  me.' 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AN  OLD  PICTURE. 


S  time  passed  on, 
Chrissy  began  to  find 
that  definite  duties, 
beginning  and  end- 
ing at  definite  hours, 
leave  one  very  definite 
leisure.  When  there 
as  nothing  to  do 
between  seven  o'clock 
and  ten,  there  was 
really  a  temptation 
to  begin  remodelling 
one's     bonnets     and 

dresses,  and   planning  where  a  bit  of  embroidery 

might  come  in  effectively. 

'  There  can  be  no  harm  in  that,'  said  one  very 

natural  side  of  the  girl's  nature.     The  idea  came  to 

her  in  thinkinsf  over  Aunt  Kezia's  observations.     It 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  133 

seemed  to  offer  a  way  of  conforming  to  some  of 
her  aunt's  suggestions  without  spending  money — a 
matter  on  which  Chrissy's  mind  was  quite  made  up. 

'  But,  then,  is  there  any  good  in  it  ? '  quickly  re- 
torted her  secret  consciousness. 

'  Perhaps  there  is.  It  is  right  to  cultivate  beauty, 
it  is  right  to  make  oneself  a  pleasant  object  in  the 
world  which  God  has  made  so  beautiful.  There  was 
something  in  what  Aunt  Kezia  said,  though,  of 
course,  she  expressed  it  after  her  own  fashion.' 

'Quite  true,'  returned  the  Mentor  in  her  own 
bosom.  '  But  is  not  the  beauty  which  God  makes 
always  that  which  helps,  and  does  not  hinder,  the 
highest  functions  of  that  which  it  adorns  ?  And 
how  often  is  there  any  true  beauty  in  mere  fashion  ? 
Take  up  any  book  of  portraits  ten  years  old,  and 
what  will  you  find  }  The  pictures  of  dear  old  ladies 
in  their  plain  dresses  and  muslin  tippets  are  still 
pleasant  to  look  on.  So  are  those  of  ladies  in  trim 
serviceable  travelling  dress,  and  of  servant-women 
in  their  white  caps  and  aprons.  But  when  you  come 
upon  the  portrait  of  a  lady  in  the  full  fashionable 
costume  of  its  date,  you  burst  out  laughing,  and  say, 
"  How  funny  !  is  it  possible  that  people  ever  made 
themselves  such  guys  as  that } "  As  for  making 
oneself  a  pleasant  object  in  God's  pleasant  world, 
neither  much  money  nor  much  time  need  be  spent 
on   compassing  that  object  most  successfully ;   no 


134  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

more,  indeed,  than  must  be  spent  in  procuring 
decency  and  neatness.  A  dash  of  rich  colour  suited 
to  one's  complexion  and  easily  enough  procurable, 
and  a  neat  white  ruffle,  which  will  wash  and  wear 
for  ever,  are  cheaper  and  more  simple  than  a  dozen 
fancy  scarves  of  every  unnatural  hue  which  fancy 
may  dictate, or  yards  and  yards  of  tawdry  "frilling," 
No,  no  ;  it  is  not  in  making  ourselves  pleasant  in 
God's  pleasant  world,  and  sweet  in  the  eyes  of  our 
friends,  that  we  waste  our  time  and  money,  but  in 
indulging  our  own  vanity,  and  teasing  our  acquaint- 
ances by  out-vieing  them.  You  know  it  is  so, 
Chrissy  Miller.  You  know  that  at  this  present  time 
it  is  not  your  dear  father's  wishes.  Miss  Griffin,  or 
Hans,  or  harmony  with  the  shadowy  dignity  of  St. 
Cecilia's  Church,  which  is  in  your  thoughts,  but  it  is 
Sophia  Ackroyd,  and  Aunt  Kezia,  and  your  next 
visit  to  Aunt  Kezia's  house.' 

God  be  praised  for  every  faithful  friend,  who  will  ' 
speak  the  plain  truth  to  us ;  and  God  be  doubly 
praised  when  He  has  given  us  such  a  faithful  friend 
to  dwell  in  our  own  hearts,  and  sit  in  judgment  on' 
our  very  thoughts.  And  such  a  friend  has  He  given  ] 
to  all  of  us,  but  we  know  it  takes  two  to  make  a] 
friendship.  It  is  not  the  amount  of  wisdom  which 
we  hear,  either  without  us  or  within  us,  which  makes 
us  wise,  but  only  what  we  accept  and  live  up  to. 
Still,  if  we  do  not  keep  in  wisdom's  ways  we  are 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  135 

sure  to  pass  out  of  hearing  even  of  her  voice.  But 
if  her  voice  speaks  within  us,  we  find  ourselves 
surrounded  by  echoes  of  it. 

A  very  homely  oracle  echoed  the  conclusions  of 
Chrissy's  own  heart. 

On  one  of  these  leisure  evenings — very  long  and 
monotonous  as  they  would  seem  sometimes — Chrissy 
took  Miss  Griffin  out  to  a  public  picture-gallery. 
Miss  Griffin  would  have  been  scared  to  have  been 
told  she  was  an  art-critic.  But  she  was  one,  never- 
theless, inasmuch  as  she  said  what  she  thought 
about  what  she  saw,  instead  of  saying,  as  too  many 
people  do,  what  she  thought  ought  to  be  said. 
Perhaps  her  simplicity  was  one  element  in  her 
candour,  for  she  did  not  know  '  masterpieces '  from 
'pot-boilers,'  old  masters  from  new  students,  ex- 
cept by  such  merits  as  she  could  recognise,  and 
consequently  gave  forth  all  sorts  of  heresies  quite 
innocently. 

Perhaps,  for  the  taste  of  those  connoisseurs  who 
dwell  much  on  'texture,'  and  seem  to  think  that 
human  incident  is  quite  subordinate  to  'still  life' 
and  'fabrics,'  poor  Miss  Griffin  dwelt  too  much 
on  the  subjects  of  pictures.  She  could  not  bear 
Murillo's  '  Beggar  -  boys,'  with  their  expression  of 
coarse  cunning,  and  their  low  tricks.  She  would 
not  admire  the  realism  of  their  dirt-engrained  feet. 

'We  see  too  much  of  such  things  in  real  life.     I'd 


136  EQUAL    TO  THE  OCCASION. 

sooner  wash  some  of  them  than  copy  them,'  she 
said. 

She  turned  away  with  contempt  from  many  of 
the  Dutch  interiors. 

'  Drunken  men  are  an  ugly  sight.  I  would  not 
hang  on  my  parlour  wall  a  representation  of  what 
I  would  turn  off  my  doorstep/  was  her  judgment ; 
but  she  would  add,  '  I  do  like  some  of  the  pictures 
of  clean  Dutch  kitchens,  with  everything  in  them 
just  a  model  of  what  things  ought  to  be,  and  heaps 
of  beautiful  vegetables,  and  abundance  of  wholesome 
food.  Yet  there  are  too  many  of  them,  and  there 
seems  to  be  nothing  going  forward  but  eating  and 
drinking.' 

Shewould  not  admire  the  delicate  sentimentalities 
of  Greuze.  '  If  I  saw  live  women  like  his  pictures,' 
she  decided,  '  I  should  be  terribly  afraid  they  were 
not  worth  much.' 

But  she  could  appreciate  many  of  the  old  painters' 
Madonnas,  and  would  gaze  raptly  into  the  soft  eyes 
of  the  Mother  of  the  Son  of  Man  as  they  looked 
down  at  her  through  the  dim  mist  of  centuries.  Yet 
the  mere  'subject'  did  not  carry  her  away,  for,  even 
of  these,  she  would  pass  by  some  with  the  comment, 
'A  woman  like  that  could  never  have  been  the 
"  Blessed  among  women." ' 

And  she  always  liked  landscapes,  if,  as  she 
described    it,   '.they   looked    like    real    places,'   no 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  137 

matter  though  the  country  they  depicted  might 
have  no  striking  features,  but  be  flat  and  tame. 
*  It's  worth  painting,'  she  would  remark.  '  It's  a  bit 
of  God's  world,  and  there  are  hearts  that  remember 
it,  and  eyes  that  grow  dim  with  longing  to  see 
it' 

She  stood  still  opposite  a  picture.  It  was  the 
portrait  of  a  lady  painted  in  the  early  years  of  this 
century.  From  the  back  of  the  head  rose  an 
elaborate  erection  of  hair,  transfixed  by  a  huge  pin. 
At  either  side  of  the  face,  on  a  level  with  the  eyes, 
was  a  highly  ornate  comb,  beneath  which  the  hair 
was  arranged  in  drooping  plaits,  caught  up  round  the 
ear,  and  fastened  into  the  coronal.  From  the  ears 
were  suspended  long  drop  earrings.  About  the 
brow  was  bound  a  black  velvet  ribbon.  The  dress 
was  very  low  and  elaborately  laced.  One  hand  was 
just  visible,  holding  a  book,  and  the  wrist  was 
clasped  by  a  bracelet  heavy  as  a  gyve.  Yet  the 
face,  when  one  could  separate  it  from  its  grotesque 
surroundings,  was  pure  and  noble.  The  effect  was 
like  a  statue  of  Minerva  masquerading  in  a  South 
Sea  Islander's  trappings. 

The  two — the  old  woman  and  the  young — gazed 
for  a  moment  in  silence.     Then  Miss  Griffin  spoke — 

'  What  was  the  artist's  name  } '  she  asked. 

Chrissy  had  the  Catalogue,  and  replied.  It  was  a 
very  famous  and  familiar  name. 


138  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  He  ought  to  have  known  better,'  mused  Miss 
Griffin.     '  And  who  is  the  lady  ? ' 

Chrissy  told  her.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a 
great  ducal  line — whose  scions  princes  had  feared 
as  enemies  and  sought  as  friends. 

'  Ah,'  said  Miss  Griffin,  '  some  folks  don't  like  to 
say  the  plain  truth  to  these  very  grand  people.  But 
that  artist  ought  to  have  been  above  that.  For  it's 
not  so  very  long  ago :  it's  since  slavery  was  found 
out  to  be  wicked.  And  there's  no  slavery  like  being 
driven  to  do  work  one  knows  would  be  better  left 
undone.  A  very  queen  has  no  right  to  set  a  genius  to 
draw  an  ugly  fashion  picture.  He  might  have  made 
a  pretty  speech  to  her,  and  said  that  he  could  not 
paint  her  in  anything  that  would  not  give  pleasure 
as  lasting  as  her  beauty  could  ;  and  that  the  power 
of  her  rank  should  be  exercised  in  showing  people 
what  they  ought  to  do.' 

'  Artists  might  do  good  if  they  spoke  out  like 
that,'  said  Chrissy. 

*  They  do  sometimes,'  returned  Miss  Griffin. 
'  My  grandfather  was  a  rich  man,  and  my  grand- 
mother had  her  portrait  painted.  She  was  a  notable 
housewife  and  a  famous  spinner,  but  on  that  occa- 
sion she  thought  she  ought  to  array  herself  in  a 
nodding  head-dress  and  a  stiff  stomacher.  The 
artist  had  seen  her  in  her  own  home,  and  knew  what 
manner  of  woman  she  was.     When  he  saw  her  in 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  139 

her  fine  toggery,  he  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  This 
will  not  do.  I  want  to  paint  you — the  lady  who 
turns  out  the  finest  napery  and  the  best  preserves  on 
the  country-side — the  woman  who  looks  well  to  the 
ways  of  her  household,  and  eats  not  the  bread  of 
idleness.  I  want  to  paint  your  character,  not  the 
conventional  madam  who  goes  out  to  tea-parties  and 
carpet-dances.  You  could  not  do  those  things  in 
these  garments."  And  he  made  her  put  on  a  black 
bombazine,  with  a  fine  hand-worked  muslin  cap 
on  her  head,  and  a  similar  kerchief  folded  over 
her  bosom,  and  hung  a  bunch  of  keys  round  her 
waist,  and  put  her  spinning-wheel  in  the  back- 
ground.' 

*  And  I  must  say,'  Miss  Griffin  added  presently, 
with  a  humorous  smile  gleaming  over  her  prim 
countenance,  'that  excellent  man's  advice  did  me 
a  good  turn  which  he  never  dreamed  of  at  the  time 
he  gave  it.  For  when  my  poor  father  fell  into  mis- 
fortune, and  all  his  effects  were  sold,  of  course  the 
family  portraits  went  too.  And  the  be-frilled  and 
bc-feathered  portraits,  with  no  historical  or  human 
interest,  went  for  the  price  of  an  old  song,  and  may 
be  hanging  yet,  smoke-dried,  in  the  dens  of  the 
marine  store-dealers  who  bought  them.  But  when 
the  auctioneer  looked  at  my  grandmother's  picture, 
he  said,  "  We  needn't  call  this  a  portrait ;  it  is  more, 
it   is   a  subject."     And    he    put    it    down    in   the 


I40  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

catalogue,  "  A  housewife  of  the  good  old  school." 
And  it  sold  well' 

And  so  Chrissy  made  up  her  mind,  seeing  clearly 
that  what  she  should  feel  it  was  foolish  to  spend 
money  upon,  it  must  be  equally  foolish  to  spend  time 
over.  She  thought  she  knew  of  better  uses  for  her 
money — uses  which  might  secure  competence  and 
independence  in  later  life.  She  was  not  quite  sure 
how  these  uses  might  arise.  Yet,  meanwhile,  money 
was  coming  in  but  slowly,  and  could  harmlessly 
accumulate  while  awaiting  fit  opportunity.  And 
that  was  where  money  evidently  differed  from 
leisure.  Leisure  would  not  accumulate.  Idle  half- 
hours  could  not  be  saved  up  till  they  made  a  whole 
holiday.  They  must  be  expended  on  the  spot,  or 
lost  for  ever. 

Chrissy  could  not  readily  see  her  way  to  a  satis- 
factory conclusion  in  this  matter.  It  required 
consideration  ;  and  all  the  while  precious  hours  were 
wasting  in  a  manner  against  which  Chrissy's  fresh 
energies  rebelled. 

What  could  she  do  ?  One  thing  occurred  to  her. 
There  was  some  needlework  presently  required  by 
herself  and  Miss  Griffin.  There  was  no  haste  for  it. 
If  anything  else  had  supervened,  it  could  have  been 
taken  up  and  laid  down  during  the  ensuing  winter 
months.  Chrissy  resolved  to  put  it,  as  Miss  Griffin 
expressed  it,  *  straight  through ' — to  work  as  women 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  141 

work  when  a  wedding  or  a  long  journey  is  imminent. 
While  she  was  doing  that,  some  other  task  might 
present  itself,  for  which  she  would  be  then  found 
entirely  disengaged.  It  was  a  narrow  and  lowly 
entrance  to  that  best  philosophy  of  human  life, 
which  teaches  us  that  we  must  have  made  the 
utmost  of  every  humble  duty  beside  us  before  we 
venture  to  say  that  our  lives  are  barren  of  interest, 
our  powers  thrown  away,  and  our  souls  stranded  on 
the  barren  sands  of  enmii. 

And  so  Chrissy  and  her  good  old  friend  planned 
and  cut  out  thriftily,  and  sewed  substantially,  for 
Miss  Griffin  had  her  own  shrewd  version  of  economy. 

'There's  no  cheapness  in  being  ill  put  together,' 
she  said.  'Folks  and  fabrics  wear  the  better  for  a 
good  constitution.' 

It  occurred  to  Chrissy,  as  she  picked  up  the 
'  pieces,'  that  there  were  enough  '  left  over '  to 
make  a  useful  little  garment  for  the  hall-porter's 
child,  provided  a  certain  rather  quaint  style  of 
making  it  up  was  adopted. 

'Gather  up  the  fragments,  that  nothing  be  lost,' 
quoted  Miss  Griffin  approvingly.  Chrissy's  face 
flushed  with  a  strange  thrill  of  pleasure.  Yes — the 
Divine  eye — the  Divine  behest  reached  even  such 
matters  as  these.  She  felt  like  a  sentry  on  ome 
remote  outpost,  who  suddenly  hears  his  general  pass 
by  with  an  approving  word. 


142  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  I  should  not  wonder,'  mused  Miss  Grififin,  '  but 
fashion  itself  actually  began  in  thrift — in  a  determi- 
nation to  use  up  pieces  of  all  shapes  and  colours,  and 
to  keep  things  strong,  and  make  them  look  pretty, 
after  they  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  service.  And 
then,  perhaps,  somebody  did  her  patching  so  daintily 
that  somebody  else  copied  it  when  there  was  no 
occasion  for  it.  It's  wonderful  how  there  is  generally 
something  good  at  the  bottom  of  everything.' 

When  that  little  garment  was  finished,  Miss 
Griffin  and  Chrissy  took  it  with  them  to  the  hall- 
porter's  own  home.  They  had  long  promised  him  a 
visit,  because  he  had  a  wonderful  old  grandmother, 
said  to  be  nearly  a  hundred  years  old,  and  still  hale 
and  brisk. 

They  found  the  centenarian  rocking  her  great- 
grandchild's cradle.  Her  grandson  and  grand- 
daughter stood  aside  in  reverent  gratification,  feeling 
that  the  visit  was  paid  to  the  old  lady,  and  that  it 
was  due  to  their  visitors  that  she  should  be  seen  at 
her  best. 

She  was  delighted  with  the  gift,  yet  shook  her 
head,  saying,  '  It  was  made  up  too  fancy.'  (Miss 
Griffin  and  Chrissy  exchanged  a  significant  glance.) 
*  Not  but  what  she  had  liked  bright  colours  in  her 
young  days,  and  liked  'em  still.'  ('  Grannie  can't 
bear  to  wear  what  she  calls  a  dowdy  shawl,'  put  in 
the  mother  of  the  baby.)     *  But  the  whole  world  is 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  143 

getting  too  fancy  now-a-days — a-beginning  every- 
thing at  the  wrong  end,  thinking  more  o'  feathers 
nor  of  flannel,  and  putting  down  bits  o'  carpet 
instead  of  scrubbing  the  floor.  It's  the  same  with 
everything,  even  with  learnin'.  Neither  mind  nor 
body  should  have  victuals  for  ever  a-standing  about. 
Food  should  not  be  put  down  till  there's  a  good 
appetite  ready  for  it.' 

'  But  surely  you  like  every  one  to  learn  to  read 
and  write  ? '  pleaded  Chrissy. 

'Well,  yes,'  the  old  lady  admitted,  with  a  slight 
reluctance.  '  But  I'd  rather  not  if  it  makes  them  set 
no  value  on  reading  and  writing.  I  learned  reading 
followin'  my  mother,  and  asking  her  the  letters  on 
the  back  o'  the  Catechism.  She  knew  them,, but  she 
was  not  always  sure  of  the  words.  An'  I  didn't  learn 
to  write  till  after  I  was  married.  And  I  taught 
myself,  long  winter  nights,  when  my  husband  was  at 
his  work,  an'  I  did  it,  picking  out  letter  by  letter 
from  the  notes  his  master  used  to  leave  for  him.  I 
got  a  few  good  lessons  at  last,  from  a  writing  master, 
just  to  finish  me  off;  I  couldn't  have  afforded  more. 
"And,"  says  he  to  me,  says  he,  "you've  done  well. 
You  happened  to  get  a  good  model,  an'  you  put  your 
will  into  it.  The  will's  the  thing ! "  says  he.  And  I 
always  had  a  good  will ! '  chuckled  the  old  lady,  with 
a  pleasant  egotism,  surely  pardonable  in  one  so 
nearly  putting  off  the  armour  of  life. 


144  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  Well,'  said  Miss  Griffin,  as  she  and  Chrissy 
walked  home,  '  it  is  wonderful  what  different  people 
come  to  the  same  opinions,  and  in  what  different 
ways  they  get  them.  You  heard  what  that  good  old 
body  said  ?  And  when  I  was  a  young  woman,  I 
heard  a  great  professor  of  Oriental  languages  say 
much  the  same  thing.  He  was  in  the  house  of  a 
friend  of  mine,  talking  over  a  young  student,  who 
did  not  seem  getting  on  with  his  learning  so  well  as 
he  might.  They  were  speaking  of  classes  and  tutors 
and  cram-books,  as  they  called  them  ;  and,  says  the 
professor,  "  They  are  all  very  well  in  their  place,  but 
success  is  in  none  of  them.  Success  is  m  setting 
yourself  down  to  your  work.  Every  educated  man 
is^  self-educated  man,"  says  he.' 

'And,'  thought  Chrissy,  'after  all,  why  should  I 
give  up  all  the  thoughts  I  had  had  of  going  through 
a  regular  course  of  drawing  ?  Dear  dear  father  was 
going  to  let  me  have  lessons  this  winter.  If  he  had 
been  living,  I  should  have  gone  to  a  morning  class. 
I  might  go  to  an  evening  one  now,  if  I  left  the  shop 
very  promptly,  and  made  great  haste  over  my  tea. 
But  no,  I  should  not  like  to  be  bound  to  run  off  from 
Mr.  Bisset,  if  he  really  wanted  my  services,  and  I 
should  not  like  to  leave  Miss  Griffin  alone,  after  all, 
when  I  know  how  she  has  been  looking  forward  to 
having  a  companion  in  the  long  lamp-lit  hours. 
I  can  certainly  learn  a  great  deal  more  than  I  know 


AN  OLD  PICTURE.  145 

now,  working  on  by  myself.  And  I'll  make  myself 
stick  to  what  a  master  would  keep  me,  and  not  copy 
landscapes  and  flowers,  but  go  on  drawing  lines  and 
outlines,  and  then  practise  *'  from  the  round  "  on  Miss 
Griffin's  cups  and  candlesticks.' 

And  this  was  howChrissy  found  out  that  leisure 
can  be  stored,  by  converting  it  into  something  else, 
and  that  the  interest  on  such  wise  investment  is  an 
ever-increasing  value  for  the  new  leisure  life  may 
bring. 


V^i 


CHAPTER  X. 


chrissy's  temptation. 


OOKED  at  from  the  outside,  it 
might  have  seemed  a  very  still 
and  monotonous  life  which 
Chrissy  Miller  lived  through  that 
first  winter  of  her  orphanhood. 
Certainly  it  seemed  so  to  Sophia 
Ackroyd,  who  never  had  less  than 
three  parties  'coming  off'  each 
week,  and  who  felt  the  interven- 
ing days  to  be  insupportably  long  and  dreary.  It 
seemed  so,  too,  to  Helen,  who  felt  that  her  own 
existence  would  have  been  unendurable  to  her  but 
for  a  glamour  which  was  thrown  over  everything — 
a  strange  perilous  delight,  revealing  in  its  flashes  all 
sorts  of  castles  looming  in  the  dim  future,  and  in 
the  present  transforming  the  common  incidents  of 
life — a  visit,  a  letter,  the  badinage  of  thoughtless 
companions — into  fairy  gold. 

But  then  neither  Sophia  nor  Helen  could  see  into 


CBJi/SSY'S  TEMPTATION.  147 

the  heart  of  Chrissy's  life.  In  their  degree  they 
were  removed  from  it  as  the  poet's  poodle  is  from 
the  poet  whom  he  sits  and  watches.  Nay,  perhaps 
further,  for  the  poor  dog  watches  in  a  mysterious 
love  and  reverence,  while  they  beheld  only  with  a 
mean  wonder,  verging  on  a  meaner  contempt. 

How  could  they  guess  that  there  was  developing 
in  Chrissy  something  very  like  a  new  sense — even 
the  perception  of  the  way  in  which  the  expression 
of  truth  and  beauty  may  steal  into  the  simplest 
and  humblest  material  forms  ?  How  could  they 
know  that  in  her  search  for  help  and  guidance 
in  her  homely  art-studies,  she  had  lighted  on  an 
oracle,  which  answered  many  a  doubting  question, 
and  found  shape  for  many  a  misty  thought — 
had,  in  short,  found  a  new  friend,  great  and  good, 
in  the  written  works  of  a  master-mind  ?  For,  from 
the  rector's  library,  she  got  the  works  of  John 
Ruskin,  art  critic  and  social  philosopher,  whom  cen- 
turies to  come  will  recognise  as  the  prophet  of  this 
present  age.  And  if  Sophia  and  Helen  could  have 
known  these  facts,  they  could  not  have  appreciated 
the  exquisite  delight  attending  them. 

And  there  was  more  still.  For  during  that  winter 
Chrissy  sounded  the  meaning  of  many  a  theological 
phrase,  which  she  had  hitherto  whispered  in  reverent 
mystery,  as  something  quite  outside  the  experience 
of  common  life.     She  learned  what  '  communion  with 


J48  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

God 'is.  Kneeling  by  her  little  lonely  bed,  pouring 
out  her  bitterness  and  griefs  as  she  would  not  pour 
them  out  even  to  Miss  Griffin,  lest  they  should  make 
her  sad,  Chrissy  felt  her  heart  fill  with  peace  and 
patience.  Things  around  her  did  not  change.  She 
changed  herself.  G^'s  sunshine  had  never  gone 
out ;  it  was  hidden  because  her  own  head  was  down 
in  the  dust.  This  raised,  the  brightness  was  there 
again.  And  she  learned,  too,  what  good  Bishop 
Taylor  calls  the  '  practice  of  the  presence  of  God,' 
the  truth  which  he  declares  to  be  the  readiest  way 
*  to  make  sin  to  cease  from  among  the  children  of 
men,  and  for  men  to  approach  to  the  blessed  estate 
of  the  saints  in  heaven.' 

In  her  loss  and  loneliness,  she  found  there  was 
One  ever  with  her  to  be  served  and  pleased,  as  she 
had  once  striven  to  serve  and  please  her  father,  who 
could  be  with  her  as  even  her  father  could  never 
have  been,  seeing  the  very  thoughts  of  her  heart, 
and  leading  her  on  to  an  ever  purer  service.  And 
as  she  thus  entered  into  some  of  the  meaning  of  the 
Fatherhood  of  God,  she  felt  a  strange  new  human 
tie  to  Him,  the  Elder  Brother,  who  revealed  it,  so 
that  she  saw  His  life  as  sharing  with  her  own  life, 
and  all  lives,  and  interpreting  their  mysteries  by 
itself.  For  her  father's  untimely  death,  for  the 
wrongs  done  him,  and  the  slights  cast  on  his  memory 
and   his    children,   what    comfort   was    there    like 


CB/^/SSV'S  TEMPTATION.  149 

Calvary,  where  He,  who  had  *  known  no  sin,'  did  not 
shrink  from  sorrow,  and  shame,  and  death?  Was 
she  not  meaning  to  discover  a  little  of  His  meaning 
when  He  said,  *  It  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go 
away  :  for  if  I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not 
come  unto  you.' 

Chrissy  began  to  feel  that  if  the  meetings  in  the 
higher  life  are  dashed  by  any  grudge  over  the  part- 
ings here,  then  the  partings  have  not  fulfilled  God's 
meaning.  Even  in  the  moments  when  her  heart 
most  yearned  for  the  touch  of  her  father's  fingers  on 
her  hair,  there  came  ever  the  thought,  *  but  not  for 
myself  as  I  used  to  be  then.' 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  Chrissy  would  not  have 
agreed  with  Sophia  Ackroyd  and  Helen,  in  pro- 
nouncing her  life  that  winter  to  be  dull  and  dreary  ? 

It  was  early  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year 
that  Chrissy,  looking  over  the  advertisements  in  the 
morning  papers,  was  arrested  by  one  : — 

WANTED  a  well-educated  youth,  who  can  speak 
English  and  German  fluently.  A  small  beginning, 
with  hard  work,  but  good  prospects. 

And  then  followed  an  address,  which  Chrissy,  with 
her  long  acquaintance  with  dim  city  byways,  knew 
belonged  to  a  small  old-fashioned  firm  of  Dutch 
origin,  and  doing  business  with  those  States  of  North 
America  where  a  German  population  predominate. 
She  remembered  the  office  quite  well — a  low  building, 


I50  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

flanking  two  sides  of  a  tiny  triangular  court-yard. 
She  had  asked  her  father  concerning  the  nationality 
of  the  quaint  name,  '  Zachary  Bilderdyk,'  and  he 
had  bidden  her  remark  the  way  in  which  the  worthy 
Dutch  merchant  had  expressed  the  habits  of  his  race 
in  the  painful  cleanliness  of  the  mean  little  building, 
and  the  great  green  bucket,  with  its  well-clipped 
evergreen,  set  down  on  neatly-laid  red  tiles.  He 
had  drawn  a  contrast  between  all  this  homely  neat- 
ness and  the  glaring  plate-glass  and  dirty  grandeur 
of  most  of  the  surrounding  offices,  adding  that  *  the 
Bilderdyks  were  a  respectable  firm,  who  might  be 
thought  rather  slow-going  now-a-days,  but  whose 
word  was  as  good  as  a  bond — and  better  than  many. 
He  had  seen  Zachary  Bilderdyk  once  on  some 
public  occasion,  and  he  seemed  a  character.' 

Chrissy  had  known  what  the  last  phrase  meant 
from  her  father's  lips,  seeing  that  he  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  applied  it  to  those  gross  exaggera- 
tions  of  recklessness    and    selfishness   which   have 
nothing  to  do  with  character,  unprefixed  by  the  word 
*  bad.'     When  Chrissy  had  been  a  little  girl,  she  had 
asked  her  father  what  he  meant  by  *a  character.' 
And  he  had  said,  '  I  mean  somebody  extra-good,  but  ( 
with  the  extra-goodness  growing  a  little  on  one  side,  | 
like  a  tree  which  is  too  big  for  the  place  where  it  > 
is  planted,  and  has  to  reach  round  or  stretch  over ' 
something.' 


CHRISSY'S  TEMPTATION.  151 

Chrissy  remembered  her  father's  words  as  she 
read  this  advertisement,  and  she  felt  as  if  Mr, 
Bilderdyk  was  quite  an  old  friend. 

Might  not  this  prove  a  good  opening  for  Hans 
Krinken  ?  He  really  ought  to  be  looking  out  for 
something  better  than  what  he  was  getting  now — 
the  poor  pittance  which  is  paid  for  sheer  manual 
labour.  He  had  no  right  to  seem  so  settled  down 
as  he  did. 

And  yet — and  the  thought  struck  Chrissy  like  a 
blow — there  was  no  change  which  could  now  come 
to  life  in  Shield  Street  which  could  be  so  much  for 
the  worse  as  that  Hans  should  leave  it.  The 
Bissets  were  kind  and  good ;  true,  but  they  had 
never  known  her  father.  Theirs  were  new  faces, 
which  had  had  no  part  in  the  finished  household 
drama.  Some  of  the  old  neighbours,  too,  were 
pleasantly  familiar,  but  they  had  always  stood 
outside.  They  had  been  going  on,  all  unconscious, 
with  their  own  business,  on  that  terrible  morning 
when  she  and  Hans  had  crept  to  her  father's  silent 
room.  And  she  and  Hans  knew  what  they  knew 
about  the  Ackroyds,  and  the  way  of  Mr.  Miller's 
ruin.  Nobody  else  knew  it,  or,  at  least,  under- 
stood it,  as  they  did.  Poor  Chrissy  almost  started,  to 
find  what  strong  ties  are  woven  of  companionship 
in  sorrow  and  mutual  comprehension  of  a  secret. 
And  why   must   it    be    Hans    to   go,   when   there 


152  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

seemed  no  likelihood  that  the  Ackroyds  would  not 
remain  for  ever, '  flourishing  like  a  green  bay-tree '  ? 
said  poor  Chrissy  in  that  bitter  moment. 

Surely,  surely,  it  was  very  nice  of  Hans  if  he  was 
not  so  terribly  impatient  to  leave  old  friends.  And 
perhaps,  if  she  told  him  about  this,  he  would  only 
think  that  the  matter  did  not  make  any  difference 
to  anybody,  and  that  she  did  not  care  how  soon  he 
went  away.  And  his  going  would  be  a  great  loss 
to  Mr.  Bisset — he  would  hardly  get  anybody  so 
efficient  in  his  place.  And  there  might  be  some 
way  for  Hans  to  stay  where  he  was,  and  yet  get 
on.  Nobody  knew  what  might  turn  up.  And 
perhaps,  when  his  grandfather  had  so  wished  him 
to  leave  Germany,  he  might  have  preferred  his  not 
entering  into  any  relations  with  Germans.  Besides, 
if  Hans  had  any  intention  of  changing  his  situa- 
tion, he  was  probably  watching  advertisements  on 
his  own  account,  and  would  take  due  notice  of 
any  which  seemed  likely  to  suit  him,  without  any 
seemingly  ungracious  reminder  from  her.  Besides, 
if  he  did  apply  for  the  situation,  very  likely  he 
would  not  get  it,  and  that  might  only  dishearten 
him. 

No,  no  !  this  would  not  do.  Chrissy  felt  that  she 
had  got  on  a  wrong  tack  ;  she  was  steering  with 
the  wind,  not  on  her  proper  course,  and  that  may 
be  easy  sailing  at  the  outset  of  a  voyage,  but  it 


CBRISSY'S  TEMPTATION.  153 

will  never  land  us  in  the  haven  where  we  would 
be.  It  was  not  Chrissy's  duty  to  study  what  Hans 
might  think  of  her,  nor  what  might  be  his  duty 
under  any  circumstances  which  might  arise.  It 
was  her  duty  to  do  the  simple  kindly  thing.  We 
can  never  act  rightly  and  truly  until  we  realise  that 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  consequences  of 
our  actions,  but  only  with  their  motives  and  their 
wisdom. 

Yes  ;  she  would  tell  Hans,  come  what  might. 
But  as  she  came  to  this  resolve,  she  could  not  help 
feeling  that  it  was  the  easier  to  carry  out  because 
she  knew  how  many  situations  must  be  applied  for 
before  one  is  obtained. 

It  may  seem  strange,  but  such  humbling  self- 
revelation  is  generally  the  Divine  recompense  for 
honest  endeavour,  just  as  self-satisfaction  seems  the 
deadly  growth  of  sloth  and  indifference.  'To 
whom  that  hath  shall  be  given,'  and  whoever  has 
worthy  aspirations,  shall  never  lose  sight  of  the  un- 
attained.  Wise  men  say,  '  He  who  blames  himself 
has  done  his  best' 

She  told  Hans  while  they  were  at  work  together 
in  the  shop — he  lifting  out  a  boxful  of  books  which 
she  had  to  catalogue. 

*  I  shall  certainly  go  after  the  chance,'  he  said,  in 
what  seemed  to  her  a  rather  dry  and  matter-of-fact 
way. 


154  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  A  great  many  people  go  after  every  place,'  she 
observed.  '  You  must  not  be  disappointed  if  you 
don't  get  it' 

'  I  shall  not  be  disappointed,'  he  answered,  in  the 
same  quiet  tone,  bending  over  the  chest.  '  I  am 
sure  to  get  something  some  day.  I  can't  stay  here 
always.' 

Chrissy's  heart  was  beating  heavily.  She  hoped 
Hans  noticed  no  change  in  her  voice.  She  could 
not  think  why  it  sounded  so  strangely.  Possibly 
Hans  was  sufficiently  occupied  with  similar  cogi- 
tations of  his  own. 

At  noontide,  when  Hans  generally  went  out  for 
some  lunch,  he  came  past  Chrissy's  place  behind 
the  counter. 

'  I  am  going  to  Bilderdyk's  now,'  he  said.  *  Won't 
you  wish  me  luck  ? ' 

'  I  wish  you  everything  that  is  good,'  Chrissy 
answered.  '  You  know  I  do,  Hans.  I  know  father 
would  like  you  to  do  well.' 

Chrissy  had  almost  said,  '  to  get  on  ; '  but  that 
phrase  did  not  chime  in  with  what  had  been  the 
fashion  of  her  father's  thoughts. 

'Thank  you,  Miss  Christina,'  said  Hans.  *A 
thought  of  one's  bgst  friend  is  the__best  omen  to 
start  with.  And  I  am  not  sure  what  might  Jbe  a 
disappointment' 

He  was  gone.     What  did  he  mean  by  his  last 


CFIRISSY'S  TEMPTATION.  155 

words  ?  Chrissy  wondered  ;  more  than  they  ex- 
pressed, she  was  sure.  But  busy  people  have  no 
time  to  perform  vivisection  on  their  friends'  speeches, 
tones,  and  looks.  Chrissy  felt  vexed  with  herself, 
and  somehow  pained  by  Hans.  If  she  had  been  an 
idle  miss,  she  might  have  indulged  her  sensations  till 
they  ended  in  a  flood  of  tears  or  a  fit  of  *  nerves.' 
But  Chrissy  had  to  make  up  the  weekly  accounts, 
and  before  she  was  half  through  her  task,  the  mist 
had  cleared  from  her  spirit,  the  world  was  again  the 
healthy  work-a-day  world,  and  she  and  Hans,  two 
friends  in  it,  who  would  always  keep  a  kind  thought 
for  each  other,  even  if  they  parted  and  never  met 
again. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


TEN    POUNDS. 


HRISSY  knew  that  HansKrinken's 
interview  with  Mr.  Bilderdyk 
could  not  be  a  very  long  one,  but 
she  was  busy  in  the  counting- 
house  all  the  affernoon,  and 
though  he  could  easily  have 
looked  in  on  her  there,  he 
managed  to  keep  out  of  her  way 
till  just  before  the  time  for 
shutting  up  the  shop. 

Even  then,  when  they  encountered  each  other,  he 
did  not  look  up  at  her,  or  appear  to  notice  her 
presence,  but  went  on  steadily  with  the  task  he  had 
in  hand,  to  wit,  the  counting  of  sundry  packets  of 
notepaper  sent  in  from  a  wholesale  warehouse. 

'  Well,  Hans  ?  '  said  Chrissy,  with  a  cheerful  tone 
of  interrogation. 

*  One — two — three,'    counted     Hans,     and     then 

150 


TEN  POUNDS.  157 

paused  to  set  up  a  pile  before  he  went  on 
deliberately, — 

'  Well,  Miss  Chrissy— I  went' 

'And  I'm  afraid  you  found  the  vacancy  filled,' 
said  Chrissy,  hating  herself  for  secretly  hoping  so. 

'Four — five — six' — another  pile  was  set  up, 
silently — 'seven — eight — nine.  No,  Miss  Chrissy — 
I  did  not.' 

'And  have  you  got  the  situation?'  Chrissy  in- 
quired anxiously. 

'Ten — eleven — twelve,'  another  piling  up.  'Not 
exactly.  It  is  to  be  kept  open  till  to-morrow 
for  me' — some  very  deliberate  counting — 'but  I 
shall  not  take  it.' 

*  Shall  not  take  it ! '  echoed  Chrissy,  with  a  sudden 
leaping  of  heart  and  a  strange  revulsion  of  feeling, 
as  if,  after  all,  she  would  not  now  mind  so  very  much 
if  he  did.  '  But  why  ?  Is  it  not  a  real  step  for  you  ? 
Do  you  not  think  the  prospects  are  good  ? ' 

Hans  did  not  answer  in  haste. 

'  It  would  be  a  real  step  for  me,'  he  replied. 
'  Not  that  the  salary  is  much  higher  than  my  wages 
here ;  but,  if  I  did  my  duty,  my  way  would  be 
opened  up  to  good  work  and  solid  position  in  time.' 

'  You  would  like  the  work  ? '  questioned  Chrissy. 

'  Ay,  that  I  should,'  said  Hans.  *  Part  of  it  would 
be  taking  charge  of  poor  German  emigrants  over  to 
America,  and  interpreting  for  them.     At  present,  I 


158  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

should  only  have  to  take  parties  from  place  to  place 
from  one  accredited  agent  to  another.  But  as  I 
grew  accustomed  to  their  requirements,  and  picked 
up  a  knowledge  of  the  country  and  of  business  in 
general,  if  I  kept  my  character  and  gave  satisfaction, 
I  should  become  an  accredited  agent  myself 

'  And  settle  in  America  ? '  asked  Chrissy. 
.     Her  heart  felt  heavy  as  lead.     Hans  said  he  did 
not  mean  to  take  this  chance,  but  the  very  sight  of 
it  seemed  to  show  her  how  big  the  world  was,  and 
how  very  far  people  could  wander  away  in  it. 

'And  settle  in  America,'  Hans  repeated. 

Chrissy  stood  silent.  These  wholesome  manly 
statements  generally  startle  women  into  pitiful  little 
remarks  about  loneliness,  home-sickness,  and  so  forth. 
But  Chrissy's  quick  wit  saw  that  in  this  case  these 
forlorn  pleas,  unavailing  as  they  generally  are,  were 
entirely  out  of  place.  Hans  had  only  been  in 
London  for  a  year.  What  was  there  to  make  it 
more  home-like  to  him  than  any  other  strange 
place  ? 

Perhaps  Hans  had  not  expected  this  utter  silence. 
Perhaps  he  tried  to  interpret  it,  for  he  said — 

'  All  places  are  lonely  till  we  make  ourselves  at 
home  in  them.  Wherever  I  go,  I  can  have  nothing 
to  leave  behind  yet ! ' 

Did  he  expect  Chrissy  to  contradict  him  "i  How 
could  she  ?     She  only  said,  timidly — 


TEN  FOUNDS.  159 

'  But  you  say  you  do  not  mean  to  go.' 

'  I  shall  not  go,'  Hans  answered, 

'  You  don't  wish  to  go,'  she  said,  doubtfully. 

*  Whether  I  do  or  not,  I  cannot  go,'  he  said. 

*  But  it  is  not  decided  ? '  she  asked.  *  You  say  it 
is  open  for  you  till  to-morrow.' 

*  Mr.  Bilderdyk  wished  it  left  open,'  said  Hans.  '  I 
told  him  what  my  decision  must  be,  but  he  seemed 
to  think  I  might  change  it.' 

Chrissy  was  puzzled,  and  rather  hurt  by  something 
in  Hans'  manner ;  and  she  felt  that,  hard  as  it  had 
seemed  that  Hans  must  go  away,  it  would  not  be 
any  easier  if  he  stayed  there  against  his  will. 

*  Won't  you  change  your  decision  ? '  she  pleaded. 

*  I  cannot.  Miss  Chrissy,'  he  replied.  By  this  time 
he  had  made  up  the  last  pile  of  paper,  and  setting  it 
down,  he  turned  and  walked  into  the  store-room, 
leaving  Chrissy  standing  mute,  her  secret  wish  of 
that  morning  apparently  fulfilled,  yet  her  spirit 
touched  with  strange  unrest  and  dissatisfaction.  She 
had  done  nothing  to  secure  her  own  gratification — 
nay,  she  had  done  all  she  could  to  risk  it,  seeing  that 
she  had  herself  started  Hans  on  his  quest.  Yet  she 
had  a  lurking  sense  of  remorse — something  was 
certainly  discordant,  and  her  secret  consciousness  of 
having  been  out  of  tune  herself  seemed  to  lay  the 
blame  at  her  door.  But  what  more  could  she  do  ? 
She  had  tried  to  invite   Hans'  friendly  confidence. 


i6o  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

generally  so  freely  given,  'and  for  once  he  had 
repelled  it  with  a  stubborn  frowardness  she  had 
never  noticed  in  him  before.  It  was  not  her  fault. 
She  tried  to  comfort  herself  with  that. 

Somewhat  mechanically  she  finished  off  her  duties 
for  the  day.  Mr.  Bisset  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
parlour  taking  their  *tea,  and  she  looked  in  upon 
them  to  say  good  evening,  and  went  on  through  the 
shop.  Hans  had  just  closed  up  all  but  the  door — 
left  open  for  her  to  go  out.  He  stood,  leaning 
against  the  door-post,  and  a  street-lamp  shed  a 
strong  light  on  his  face.  Its  expression  was  not 
sad,  but  moody,  almost  discontented ;  and  his  voice, 
as  he  bade  her  good-night,  had  a  dreary  sound  in 
it. 

Chrissy  walked  a  few  paces  down  Shield  Street ; 
then  paused,  and  suddenly  turned. 

The  youth  was  standing  where  she  had  left  him. 
Chrissy  stepped  back  into  the  shop. 

'  Hans,'  she  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper, — *  Hans, 
I  know  there  is  something  wrong  —  something's 
troubling  you.     What  is  it  ?  ' 

His  face  brightened  as  she  spoke.  The  cloud 
broke  up,  but  the  brightness  that  came  forth  was  as 
pathetic  moonlight,  not  sunshine. 

*  What  can  be  troubling  me.  Miss  Chrissy  ? '  he 
asked. 

'I    don't    know,'   said    Chrissy,   waxing    braver. 


^      TEN  POUNDS.  i6i 

'But  something   is^  I   am   sure.     Do   tell   me   the 
truth,  Hans ;  I  know  you  will.' 

*I  have  been  a  little  troubled,'  he  answered. 
'One  may  be  foolish  sometimes,  and  fancy  things 
might  be  managed  better  for  us  than  they  are.  But 
that  mood  passes,  Miss  Chrissy,    It  is  passed  already.' 

*  Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  was  ? '  implored 
Chrissy. 

Hans  was  silent. 

*  You  would  really  have  liked  to  take  this 
situation  ? '  she  urged. 

*  I  ought  to  have  been  glad  of  it,'  he  admitted  ; 
'  and  I  wish  I  ought  to  be  very  glad  of  it,'  he  added 
more  enigmatically. 

*  And  it  is  kept  open  for  you  till  to-morrow,'  cried 
Chrissy, '  and  yet  you  have  made  up  your  mind  not  to 
take  it  ?  Hans,  it  must  be  offered  to  you  with  some 
condition  you  do  not  like.  But  won't  you  think  it  over, 
even  if  you  won't  say  what  it  is  ?  For  father  thought 
Mr.  Bilderdyk  was  a  good  man,  and  he  may  have 
reasons  for  his  rules  which  you  do  not  understand.' 

i'  His  rules  are  reasonable  and  wise,  I  can  see  that,' 
said  Hans  quietly ;  *  but  I  cannot  meet  them.* 

They  were  both  inside  the  shop  now,  and  Hans 
had  closed  the  door.     Only  one  lamp  was  burning, 
casting  a  dim  light  on  the  book-laden  shelves  and . 
heavy  packing-cases.     The  old   place  looked  very 
much  as  it  did  on  that  evening  when  Chrissy  had 


i62  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

groped  across  its  gloom  to  find  her  father  in  the 
counting-house.  It  had  been  her  duty  then  to 
submit  to  silence  and  secrecy.  But  that  did  not 
seem  her  duty  now.  The  same  duties  seldom 
return  upon  us.  Experience  must  grow  with  our 
growth,  or  it  will  check  it.  Some  people  never 
dq^  the  duty  of  to-day,  because  they  are  striving 
to  do  the  duty  they  neglected  yesterday;  while 
with  the  wiser  sort,  one  task  accomplished  generally 
leads  to  a  widely  varied  one. 

*  Hans,'  she  pleaded,  *  won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ? 
It  cannot  be  any  habit  which  Mr.  Bilderdyk  imposes 
on  his  people,  for  all  your  habits  are  good  ;  you  go 
to  church,  you  do  not  smoke.  Hans,  it  will  be  kind- 
ness to  me  to  tell  me  ;  there  are  so  few  now  who  care 
to  tell  me  anything  about  themselves.  I'm  not  very 
wise,  Hans,  but  I  might  think  of  something  to  help 
you  ;  a  very  little  helps  one  sometimes.' 

*  If  it  was  counsel  I  wanted,  I  would  seek  yours — 
I  would  indeed,  Miss  Chrissy,'  said  the  young  man 
earnestly.     *  But  this  is  something  quite  different' 

*  If  father  had  been  alive,  could  he  have  helped 
you  ? '  she  asked. 

Hans  paused,  then  answered  *  Yes.' 

*  And  would  you  have  asked  his  help  ? '  she  went 
on  eagerly. 

The  pause  was  longer,  but  the  answer  came  again, 
'Yesl' 


TEN  POUNDS.  163 

'It  must  be  something  about  references  —  or 
money  ! '  cried  Chrissy. 

'There — there  !'  said  Hans  hastily.  *  It  does  not 
matter — you  can  never  guess ! 

But  Chrissy  was  not  to  be  so  silenced  now.  She 
went  on  boldly — 

*  It  cannot  be  reference.  Mr.  Bisset  would  speak 
well  of  you,  and  I  am  sure  Dr.  Julius  would  give 
you  a  good  word,  and  so  would  Miss  Griffin.  It 
must  be  money.     Hans,  do — do  tell  me  what  it  is.' 

But  Hans  was  stubbornly  mute. 

*  It  is  about  money  ;  if  it  is  not,  Hans,  at  least  say 
that.' 

'  It  is  about  money,  Miss  Chrissy,'  said  Hans  in 
a  choking  voice  ;  '  but  it  does  not  matter.  I  don't 
want  to  go.  Perhaps  I  might  not  have  gone  if  I  had 
been  able.' 

He  moved  towards  the  shop  door,  opened  it,  and 
went  out.  He  was  not  going  to  risk  more  of  this 
perilous  interview.  His  secrets  would  be  safer  in  the 
street.     But  Chrissy  followed  him. 

'Hans,'  she  said  timidly,  'is  it  anything  about 
clothes  ? ' 

Hans  laughed — a  painful  laugh. 

'  No,  it  isn't,  Miss  Chrissy,'  he  answered.  '  These 
are  all  I  have,  but  Mr.  Bilderdyk  did  not  guess  that, 
so  that  subject  did  not  come  up.  When  your  father 
had  mercy  on  me,'  he  went  on  with  austere  truth- 


1 64  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

fulness,  *  I  was  a  beggar,  in  beggar's  rags.  These 
clothes  I  wear  he  gave  me  ;  and  I  have  saved  money- 
sufficient  to  buy  more.  I  have  got  so  far  ahead  of 
the  world  in  one  short  year — and  yet  I  am  discon- 
tented ! '  he  added,  in  a  gentler  tone. 

'  Hans,'  pleaded  Chrissy,  walking  by  his  side,  and 
never  noticing  that  James  and  Sophia  Ackroyd 
passed  them  by — '  Hans,  will  you  not  tell  me  what 
this  money  is  needed  for — tell  me  because  I  am  my 
father's  daughter  ? ' 

*  Women  ought  not  to  be  burdened  with  money 
troubles  ;  women  like  you  have  enough  burdens  of 
their  own,'  said  Hans. 

And  then  he  came  to  a  dead  stand-still  ;  for  he 
said  to  himself,  *  She  ought  not  to  be  seen  speaking 
with  me  in  the  street ;  she  is  Miss  Miller,  and  I  am 
only  the  German  shop-boy.'  For  he  had  observed 
the  architect's  son  and  daughter,  and  had  compre- 
hended the  scorn  on  the  young  lady's  face. 

'I  cannot  leave  you  like  this,'  said  Chrissy  ;  'you, 
whom  my  father  liked  and  thought  so  much  of.' 

And  without  a  word,  she  turned  from  the  thorough- 
fare down  which  they  were  walking — still  crowded 
and  bustling  in  the  long  spring  twilight — and  passed 
through  a  small  iron  gate  which  opened  on  her  right 
hand.     Hans  could  not  do  less  than  follow  her. 

That  little  iron  gate  led  them  to  a  quaint  retreat 
with   which    Chrissy   had  been    familiar    from   her 


TEN  POUNDS.  165 

earliest  days.  It  was  a  broad  quay  running  parallel 
with  the  dingy  street  they  had  just  left,  and  it  was 
flanked  on  one  hand  by  spacious  Government  offices, 
while  on  the  other  lay  the  river.  Thus  a  few  steps 
gave  them  an  entire  change  of  scene  and  surround- 
ing. On  the  street  side,  the  Government  offices  were 
dark  and  mean,  with  rough  men  lounging  at  low 
doors,  while  all  the  houses  round  were  either  gloomy 
or  sordid,  and  one  scarcely  dared  to  raise  one's  eyes 
to  the  strip  of  sky  overhead,  lest  one  should  find 
oneself  jostled  into  the  mire.  But  to  the  river,  the 
great  building  turned  a  calm  and  stately  face. 

Countless  pigeons  found  refuge  in  its  deep  eaves 
and  on  the  capitals  of  its  pillars,  and  fluttered  down 
to  take  their  tithe  of  bounteous  ship  cargoes,  fearless 
of  the  pale  little  city  children  who  played  about  the 
great  flight  of  steps,  or  of  the  feeble  old  city  pen- 
sioners who  rested  themselves  on  thoughtfully  pro- 
vided seats,  and  watched  the  busy  vivid  life  of  the 
silent  highway,  the  big  ships  coming  in  and  going 
out,  the  passenger-laden  steamers  passing  to  and  fro, 
the  picturesque  hay  barges  with  their  dark  red  sails 
and  fragrant  freight,  or  else  looked  up  at  the  sun- 
set over  the  city,  and  thought  deeper  and  sweeter 
thoughts  than  they  could  ever  find  words  for. 

The  sun  was  already  down  to-night ;  only  one  line 
of  pale  glory  still  lingered  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  behind  a  magnificent  pile  which  might  have 


1 66  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

been  '  the  cathedral '  anywhere  else,  but  in  London 
is  only  '  a  parish  church.'  The  old  people  were 
beginning  to  bestir  themselves ;  the  breeze  would 
soon  blow  cold,  and  the  liveried  porter  would  come 
out  of  the  Government  office  to  lock  the  gates  of 
the  quay.  Chrissy  knew  that  what  she  had  to  do 
must  be  done  quickly. 

*  Hans,'  she  said,  *  how  can  you  shrink  from  speak- 
ing out  to  me?  I  am  poor,  like  you.  We  must 
both^  know  the  same  struggles  and  defeats  —  and 
successes  too,  perhaps.' 

'Perhaps  that  does  not  make  it  easier,'  muttered 
Hans. 

But  Chrissy  did  not  catch  his  words. 

'  It  is  so  hard  to  be  kept  out  of  a  friend's  counsel,  \ 
just  because  the  friend  feels  that  one  cannot  help,'  / 
she  bewailed. 

Oh,  the  wiles  of  a  woman  !  Let  no  man  think  to 
escape  them.  The  utmost  that  is  given  to  him  is  to 
take  care  that  the  wiles  beguile  him  to  his  good  and 
not  to  his  hurt.  Hans  was  fairly  conquered.  How 
could  Chrissy  take  up  his  silence  so,  at  precisely  its 
opposite  meaning  ?    He  was  driven  to  defend  himself. 

'  It  is  not  that  at  all,'  he  cried.  '  Only  why  should 
I  trouble  you  with  hearing  that  I  must  give  up  a 
chance  of — of  doing  a  great  deal  I  should  like  to  do, 
because  it  is  one  of  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  rules,  like  a  law 
of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  that  the  youth  who  takes 


TEN  POUNDS.  167 

the  place  which  is  offered  to  me,  should  always  pay 
his  first  passage  to  America  himself.  The  rule 
arose  because  he  had  two  or  three  young  men  in 
succession  who  hired  with  him  simply  to  secure  the 
passage,  and  deserted  his  service  directly  they  landed. 
It  is  therefore  quite  a  reasonable  rule,  but  it  is  a  speci- 
men of  the  harm  dishonest  and  selfish  people  do.' 

*  Hans,'  said  Chrissy  very  quietly,  *  are  you  quite 
sure  you  like  the  work  ?  And  did  Mr.  Bilderdyk 
really  think  you  would  suit  ? ' 

*  I  should  like  the  work,  certainly,'  said  Hans. 
•  It  is  a  way  of  gaining  one's  living  into  which  one 
could  put  a  lot  of  usefulness.  And  Mr.  Bilderdyk 
kindly  said  he  thought  I  would  suit  particularly  well. 
And  as  for  the  going  away — well,  that's  the  part 
which  makes  the  disappointment  easier.' 

The  rough  edge  had  gone  from  his  voice.  He 
was  good-natured  Hans  once  more. 

*  Hans,'  Chrissy  said  breathlessly,  and  with 
shining  eyes,  *  if  it  is  only  about  ten  pounds  that 
you  want,  I  have  them  ready ;  they  are  just  lying 
by,  waiting  to  be  useful  in  some  way.'  She  did  not 
leave  him  time  to  rally  from  his  astonishment  and 
refuse,  but  went  on  rapidly,  '  Because  I  am  a  woman, 
you  will  not  say  I  ought  not  to  be  a  friend. 
Because  I  am  a  woman,  you  will  not  say  I  must  not 
try  to  carry  on  what  my  father  began.  You  will 
repay  me  those  ten  pounds  long  before  I  shall  need 


i68  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

them,     It   is  nothing,  Hans;   it  is  no  favour,  it  is 
no  kindness,  it  is  only  a  neighbourly  service.' 

'  I  cannot  take  it ;  it  must  not  be,'  said  poor 
Hans ;  '  but  you  have  already  done  me  a  kindness 
I  can  never  repay  by  offering  it  to  me.' 

*  So,  am  I  to  work  only  to  buy  finery,  or  to  pro- 
vide for  my  own  old  age  ? '  cried  Chrissy.  *  Nobody 
would  have  blamed  me  much  if  I  had  spent  most  of 
that  money  on  myself,  on  what  I  do  not  want,  and 
can  do  quite  well  without.  But  I  suppose  nobody 
will  approve  of  my  using  it  in  any  such  way  as  this 
to  serve  a  fellow-creature,  and  bring  happiness  to 
myself.  If  you  cannot  accept  help  from  a  woman, 
Hans  Krinken,  it  must  be  because  you  think  a 
woman  is  unworthy  to  help  you.  Then  I  wonder , 
why  God  made  women  at  all !  But  in  great  men's . 
lives  one  often  reads  that  they  were  helped  and 
served  in  their  early  days  by ' — 

Chrissy  paused  in  confusion ;  for  there  was 
something  in  the  radiant  face  Hans  turned  upon 
her  which  recalled  what  in  her  excitement  she  had 
rushed  upon,  forgetful,  to  wit,  that  her  sentence  must 
end  with  the  words,  *  Those  who,  in  many  cases, 
were  afterwards  their  wives.' 

Hans  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

*  Miss  Chrissy,'  he  said,  in  low  solemn  tones,  '  I 
will  take  your  kindness  if,  after  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Bilderdyk  to-morrow,  no   other  way  is  opened  for 


TEN  POUNDS.  169 

me.  But,  Miss  Chrissy,  I,  too,  know  all  about  you 
and  your  affairs — and  how  much,  therefore,  you  are 
doing  for  me.     This  money  must  be ' — 

'  It  is  all  my  own  earnings  since  my  father's  death,' 
she  interrupted,  *  and  I  have  a  little  more  still,  and 
more  will  be  coming  in  every  week  to  pay  my  ex- 
penses, and  I  need  very  little.     It  is  all  right,  Hans.' 

'  My  life  ought  to  be  something  good,  after  such 
an  event  as  this  coming  into  it,*  mused  Hans. 
*  Good-night,  Miss  Chrissy.  I  will  do  my  very  best 
to  get  away  from  you — it  will  be  quite  easy — now 
I  find  you  are  willing  to  risk  your  fortune  to  send 
me  off.' 

There  was  something  in  the  playful  words  which 
made  Chrissy 's  heart  leap,  and  it  danced  within  her 
all  the  while  as  she  ran  home  to  Miss  Griffin's.  She 
felt  sure  Hans  would  go  now,  and  it  was  her  own 
hand  which  had  loosed  his  moorings ;  but  the  pain 
of  parting  was  over — over,  at  least,  for  this  ecstatic 
hour,  though  it  might  come  back  upon  some  lower 
mood. 

For  the  soul  which  can  make  God's  will  its  own, 
and  cheerfully  set  its  hand  to  work  in  the  weaving 
of  His  circumstances,  is  master  of  events.  There 
is  a  truth  for  daily  use  in  the  Divine  paradox — 
'  Whosoever  would  save  his  life,  shall  lose  it ;  and 
whosoever  shall  lose  his  life  for  My  sake ' — for  the 
love  of  God  and  of  his  brother  man — '  shall  find  it.' 


CHAPTER   XII. 


A  VENTURE. 


'HEN  Hans  presented 
himself  at  Mr.  Bilder- 
dyk's  office  for  his 
second  and  conclusive 
interview,  the  grave 
Dutch  merchant 
said — 

'  So  you've  come 
back  again.  I  thought 
you  would.' 

He  had  formed  his 
own  conclusions  as  to 
the  condition  which 
had  given  rise  to  the  youth's  hesitancy.  Of  course 
it  concerned  the  ten  pounds  on  which  he  insisted  for 
preliminary  expenses.  It  was  unlikely  that  such  a 
sum  would  not  be  a  grave  consideration  to  a  friend- 
less young  foreigner — a  matter  calling  for  debate  and 

170 


A   VENTURE.  171 

delay.  But  Mr.  Bilderdyk  did  not  choose  to  believe 
that  it  could  be  any  insurmountable  obstacle  if  the 
young  man  really  wanted  to  be  employed  by  him. 
Any  respectable  person  could  find  means  to  borrow 
or  raise  such  a  sum.  Mr.  Bilderdyk  had  never 
looked  poverty  full  in  the  face.  He  had  had  his  own 
early  struggles  with  it,  but  he  had  conquered,  so  to 
speak,  from  trench  or  battlement :  it  had  never  come 
to  a  hand-to-hand  fight.  Further,  he  came  to  this 
conclusion  because  it  suited  him.  He  thought  Hans 
a  specially  promising  applicant.  But  he  had  no  in- 
tention of  abating  his  rule  for  any  exception,  always 
arguing  that  it  did  less  harm  to  be  wrong  in  one 
case,  by  strictly  adhering  to  a  good  rule,  than  to 
hold  such  rule  at  the  mercy  of  impulse  or  circum- 
stance. If  Hans  could  not  raise  this  money,  then 
he  must  be  relegated  to  the  ranks  of  the  undesirable. 
Mr.  Bilderdyk  was  an  upright  man,  and  had  strict 
ideas  of  duty,  but  they  all  took  an  organised  and 
official  form.  He  would  not  have  picked  up  a 
wounded  traveller  and  set  him  on  his  own  beast. 
He  would  have  called  a  policeman  and  sent  for  a 
hospital  ambulance.  His  mind  was  something  like 
a  kitchen  garden,  free  equally  from  the  rankest 
weeds  and  the  sweetest  flowers,  but  well  stocked 
with  potatoes  and  pot-herbs,  by  no  means  to  be 
despised.  To  those  who  knew  it  best,  his  life  pre- 
sented a  regulated  symmetry  quite  consoling  and 


172  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

restful  among  the  general  mass  of  human  muddle ; 
but  it  was  the  regulated  symmetry  of  a  neatly-ruled 
ledger,  not  of  a  noble  ode. 

*  Sir,'  said  Hans,  with  the  clear  colour  coming 
into  his  face,  *  I  saw,  from  the  first,  there  was 
nothing  I  should  be  more  thankful  for  than  such  a 
chance  as  you  offer  to  give  me.  My  only  hesita- 
tion concerned  the  money  for  my  first  travelling 
expenses.' 

'  I  knew  that — I  felt  sure  of  that,'  observed  Mr. 
Bilderdyk,  gratified  by  the  frank  statement  which 
confirmed  his  own  shrewd  conjecture. 

*  I  told  you,  sir,  that  I  was  poor,  a  stranger,  and 
friendless,'  Hans  went  on  ;  *  but ' — 

'You  find  you  are  not  so  friendless  as  you 
thought,'  said  the  merchant,  with  a  quiet  smile. 
He  was  not  a  hard  man,  except  in  the  matter  of 
his  rules.  On  the  security  of  Hans'  honest  face 
and  candid  manner  he  would  almost  have  advanced 
him  such  a  sum  himself,  for  any  purpose  but  to 
enter  his  own  service.  For  this  rule  of  his  had 
been  made,  not  so  much  to  prevent  money-losses, 
as  to  spare  the  confusion  caused  by  mere  temporary 
hirelings. 

The  colour  on  Hans'  face  deepened. 

'  I  told  you,  sir,'  said  he,  '  about  my  first  master 
— Mr.  Miller,  who  took  me  up  when  I  was  but  a 
beggar,  little   more   than    a  year   ago,  and  who   is 


A   VENTURE.  173 

since  dead.  His  daughter,  sir,  desires  to  lend  me 
this  money.' 

'Good!'  said  Mr.  Bilderdyk,  dehghted  by  this 
confirmation  of  the  theory  on  which  his  rule  was 
founded. 

'  But  my  master  died — not  rich,  you  know,  sir. 
It  is  a  question  whether  I  ought  to  accept  this 
money.' 

*  It  is  only  a  loan  ?  '  inquired  Mr.  Bilderdyk. 

'It  is  a  loan,'  said  Hans ;  'but  it  is  a  loan  freely 
offered  to  a  wandering  foreigner,  who  can  give  no 
security  for  its  return  in  case  of  his  misfortune  or 
death.' 

'  What  interest  are  you  to  pay  ? '  asked  Mr. 
Bilderdyk. 

'  None,'  said  Hans,  almost  sharply.  *  I  could  not 
propose  any — the  loan  was  not  offered  so.' 

'  Because,  of  course,  high  interest  covers  risks,' 
mused  the  merchant.  'Well,  the  old  lady  shows 
that  she  has  considerable  faith  in  you.' 

We  are  all  apt  to  conjure  up  pictures  in  associa- 
tion with  an  idea  presented  to  us,  and  some  fine 
imaginations  have  a  curious  gift  for  correctness, 
even  in  very  small  details.  But  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  did 
not  dance  and  leap  like  an  unaccountable  cataract, 
but  ran  in  straight  lines,  like  the  canals  of  his  native 
Holland,  so  that  every  step  of  its  progress  could  be 
accounted   for.     Women   never   had  money   to   do 


174  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

what  they  liked  with  till  they  were  old.  Good  old 
women  liked  helping  worthy  young  people.  Ergo, 
Hans'  benefactress  must  be  old.  Perhaps  it  was 
significant  that  Hans  did  not  at  once  contradict 
the  inappropriate  adjective.  A  minute  or  two 
afterwards,  his  silence  struck  him  as  false  —  as 
something  like  a  lie. 

*I  don't  think  I  should  disappoint  the  lady's 
confidence  in  the  long  run,'  he  said  ;  *  but — I  might 
die — and  she  could  ill  afford  to  lose  such  a  sum. 
I  could  not  bear  that  she  should  lose  it  through  me.' 

The  merchant  sat  reflecting. 

*  I  know  one  thing  you  can  do,'  he  said  presently. 
'  You  can  insure  your  life  for  twenty-five  pounds, 
and,  in  the  event  of  your  death,  that  would  cover 
your  funeral  expenses  and  pay  this  debt  too.  But 
I'm  afraid  you  are  not  of  age ;  the  difficulty  may 
be  got  over,  only  it  will  give  rise  to  complicated 
arrangements,  and  cause  some  trouble.' 

*  I  am  of  age  next  week,'  said  Hans  eagerly. 

*  Dear  me,  that  is  particularly  fortunate,'  returned 
the  old  Dutchman,  looking  at  the  youth  over  his 
spectacles.  'I  did  not  think  you  were  so  old;  I  took 
you  for  about  eighteen  ;  if  I  remember  rightly,  I  did 
not  inquire  your  age — I  took  it  for  granted.' 

Hans  thought  Mr.  Bilderdyk  had  a  faculty  for 
guessing  ages  wrongly. 

'  It  will  be  quite  easily  managed,' went  on  the  mer- 


A   VENTURE.  175 

chant.  'You  can  make  arrangements  for  getting 
the  insurance  complete  by  the  time  you  are  of  age, 
then  you  can  make  a  simple  will  leaving  all  you 
have  to  this  old  lady ' — 

*  To  Miss  Christina  Miller,'  put  in  Hans. 

'  And  that  will  can  hold  good  till  you  have  repaid 
this  loan.' 

*  It  can  hold  good  for  ever,'  thought  Hans,  *  at  least, 
unless — until ' — and  there  he  reined  in  his  fancy,  for  if 
he  let  it  carry  him  on  so  fast  he  should  lose  his  head. 

*  It  will  be  best  to  put  the  will  in  charge  of  some 
trustworthy  person,'  pursued  the  business-like  Mr. 
Bilderdyk.  '  I  will  not  offer  to  take  charge  of  it 
myself ;  its  custodian  had  better  be  some  personal 
friend  of  yours  or  of  the  old  lady's.' 

'I  had  rather  Miss  Miller  did  not  know  anything 
about  it,'  returned  Hans.  '  I  will  ask  Dr.  Julius,  the 
medical  man  who  lives  opposite  St.  Cecilia's  Church, 
to  take  it  in  hand.' 

'  Ay,  that  will  do,'  said  the  old  merchant.  '  And  if 
you  like,  I  will  be  one  witness  to  the  document.  These 
arrangements  are  always  made  more  secure  by  several 
responsible  persons  knowing  of  them,  especially  as 
you  don't  wish  to  acquaint  the  old  lady  herself  with 
them,  and  enable  her  to  protect  her  own  interests.' 

There  is  a  place  for  everybody  in  the  world,  and 
a  part  in  which  every  man's  innocent  idiosyncrasies 
can  disport  themselves  for  the  general  good.     Cer- 


176  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

tainly  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  matter-of-fact  precision  made 
poor  Chrissy's  enthusiastic  generosity  into  the  most 
rational  proceeding  possible ;  and  if  worldly  wisdom 
and  shrewdness  would  more  often  hold  themselves  at 
the  service  of  the  higher  intuitions  and  warmer  emo- 
tions, instead  of  dominating  over  them,  much  that  is 
now  thought '  visionary '  would  become  '  visible.' 

As  Hans  Krinken  walked  back  to  Shield  Street, 
all  painful  sense  of  obligation,  all  lurking  fear  of 
unmanly  dependence,  had  quite  passed  away,  and 
there  remained  but  that  gratitude  for  the  enjoyment 
of  a  ready  and  watchful  love,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  helpful  possessions  with  which  a  soul  can  start 
on  the  journey  of  life. 

Yet  not  for  worlds  would  he  let  Chrissy  know 
how  carefully  she  was  to  be  shielded  from 
possible  loss.  He  would  not  have  done  anything 
which  could  make  her  think  that  he  imagined  he 
had  lessened  his  debt  to  her.  Hans  was  far  too 
wise  to  imagine  any  such  thing.  Nor  was  he  any 
the  more  tempted  to  do  so  when,  on  going  to  Dr. 
Julius,  and  telling  that  gentleman  the  whole  story, 
he  not  only  promised  to  keep  the  secret  and  give 
the  purposed  arrangement  all  the  help  and  further- 
ance in  his  power,  but  treated  Hans  with  marked 
consideration,  and  even  hinted  that  had  he  come 
to  him  in  the  first  instance,  he  himself  might  have 
advanced  the  required  sum. 


A   VENTURE.  177 

Hans  was  thankful  for  the  doctor's  expressions  of 
kindliness,  and  did  not  doubt  their  sincerity;  but, 
young  as  he  was,  a  severe  experience  of  life  had  taught 
him  that  people  are  viewed  much  more  favourably 
through  the  medium  of  another  person's  confidence 
and  friendship,  and  that  when  anybody  comes  to  us 
so  commended,  it  is  not  all  of  us  who  have  sufficient 
imagination  to  realize  how  we  should  have  regarded 
him  had  he  come  before  us  without  such  credentials. 
Hans  rather  felt  that  Chrissy  had  done  more  than 
lend  him  gold — she  had  given  him  character. 

Chrissy  was  a  little  anxious  all  that  morning 
while  Hans  was  away  at  Mr.  Bilderdyk's.  She  was 
afraid  he  was  dreadfully  unwilling  to  take  her 
money ;  and  fancying,  as  women  often  do,  that  every- 
body must  see  the  worth  of  what  they  value,  she  could 
not  help  thinking  that  the  Dutch  merchant  himself 
would  smooth  the  way  for  the  young  man.  And 
somehow,  if  Hans  went  away  without  her  help,  it 
would  make  his  going  seem  harder.  Why,  it  would 
hav^  been  hard  to  say ;  but  the  mind,  and  still  more 
the  heart^have  processes  which  defy  logic.  And 
these  will  have  their  way,  however  unaccountable, 
like  many  other  forces  of  nature ;  like  the  sun,  for 
instance,  which  dominates  the  planets  round  it,  quite 
serenely,  though  we  know  little  more  of  *  gravitation  ' 
than  the  name  we  have  ourselves  given  it. 

When  Hans  came  towards  her  with  a  light  step 


178  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

and  a  beaming  face,  she  felt  sure  that  his  object  was 
to  be  accomplished  without  her  aid.  Well,  she 
must  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  his  rejoicing.  But  it  is 
useless  to  deny  that  she  found  it  much  easier  to  be 
glad  when  Hans  said — 

*  You    are   to   have   it   all   your   own   way,    Miss 
Chrissy.     Yours  is  to  be  the  hand  which  is  to  send/ 
me  into  banishment.' 

Chrissy  told  only  Miss  Griffin  of  her  venture,  for 
the  girl  had  a  loyal  heart,  and  did  not  care  to  keep 
secrets  from  one  who  opened  up  to  her  all  the 
treasures  of  her  own  experience.  She  could  not  be 
sure  it  would  win  Miss  Griffin's  entire  approval,  but 
it  would  certainly  meet  with  the  kindly  sympathy 
with  which  the  good  old  maid  always  heard  and 
considered  other  people's  affairs. 

Chrissy  told  her  story  with  beating  heart  and 
blushing  face.  Miss  Griffin,  arranging  her  tea-china 
in  the  early  summer  twilight,  said  not  a  word  while 
she  told  it,  and  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards. Then  she  suddenly  came  round  to  where 
Chrissy  was  sitting,  and  put  one  of  her  hands  on 
each  of  Chrissy's  shoulders. 

*  I  suppose  I  ought  to  preach  up  prudence,  and  ' 
condemn  you  for  rashness  and  over-generosity,  and  \ 
remind  you   of  your  own  old  age,  and  of  all  the, 
mischances  which  may  befall  you.     It's  a  good  ser-, 
mon,  but  you'll  find  plenty  of  people  to  preach  it.j 


A   VENTURE.  179 

Chrissy  Miller,  I'd  have  done  what  you  have  done.  ' 
There  was  a  day  once,  Chrissy. — But  I  had  nothing  i 
of  my  own.     The  will  of  the  Lord  be  done  !     Onlyi 
men  will  never  be  worse  off  for  the  better  fortune  of/ 
women  ! ' 

Hans  Krinken  left  his  post  in  the  Shield  Street 
shop,  and  entered  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  employment  a  {&\n 
weeks  before  he  was  required  to  leave  England.  A 
day  or  two  after  this  change  it  was  only  natural  that 
he  should  find  some  message  which  required  that  he 
should  visit  Miss  Griffin's  rooms  after  office  hours. 
Many  a  young  heart  has  leaped  with  delight  when 
some  sweet  voice  has  shyly  dropped  an  accustomed 
title,  and  taken  up  the  more  familiar  Christian  name. 
But  in  this  instance  matters  were  reversed.  It  was 
when  Chrissy  softly  said,  *  Mr.  Krinken,'  that  Hans 
looked  up,  and  thanked  her  with  his  kind  blue  eyes. 
For  one  thing,  it  was  so  good  of  her  to  recognize  and 
remember  that  though  he  was  still  as  poor  as  ever — 
was  even  her  debtor  in  a  special  way  which  he  had 
never  been  before — yet  he  had  advanced  a  step  in 
social  status,  and  now  had  a  humble  position  among 
educated  men.  And  more  than  that,  he  was  there- 
fore drawn  nearer  her.  The  little  ceremony  of  her 
address  did  not  mark  a  barrier  set  up  between  them, 
but  one  broken  down.  It  would  not  stay  for  ever. 
But  its  rearing  made  possible  some  future  fair  day 
when  he  mi<i:ht  ask  to  be  Hans  once  more — no  longer 


i8o  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

homely  Hans  the  shop-boy,  but  Hans  the  equal 
friend,  perhaps  the  happy  lover.  Yes,  there  was 
music  for  him  in  Chrissy's  simple  phrase. 

'We  are  just  sitting  down  to  tea,  Mr.  Krinken  ; 
won't  you  join  us  ?  ' 

'  Yes — yes,  certainly  Mr.  Krinken  will,'  said  Miss 
Griffin,  bustling  to  her  china-cupboard  for  another 
cup  and  saucer. 

And  this  time  the  invitation  was  accepted. 

They  talked  to  him  about  what  he  would  need  to 
take  with  him  for  his  voyage,  and  for  his  sojourn  in 
the  strange  country.  Hans  had  a  true  instinct  that 
he  must  joyfully  accept — must  almost  request — little 
kindnesses  from  the  hands  which  had  done  so  much 
for  him.  He  told  them  frankly  how  much  money  of 
his  own  he  had  to  spend,  and  what  he  absolutely 
required,  and  appealed  to  their  woman's  wit  and 
fertility  of  resource  to  make  the  best  of  the  business 
for  him.  Miss  Griffin  undertook  to  do  all  the  buying 
and  making  up.  Chrissy  said  she  would  have  plenty 
of  time  to  help  now ;  there  was  all  the  evening 
leisure.  But  what  about  her  drawing?  Hans  asked  ; 
for  he  had  heard  about  her  efforts  and  her  studies 
concerning  them.  Chrissy  laughed.  Her  drawings 
could  wait.  She  would  work  all  the  better  after  a/ 
rest.  There  would  be  time  enough  for  them  when  / 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  she  added,  a  little 
pathetically.     But  she  would  show  them  to  him. 


A    VENTURE.  i8i 

She  had  certainly  worked  hard.  She  had  started 
with  a  good  stock  of  such  mechanical  skill  as  girls 
acquire  at  school.  And  after  a  little  '  free-hand,' 
and  a  few  original  exercises  from  the  '  round,'  she 
had  taken  for  models  sundry  prim  old  representa- 
tions of  buildings  of  historical  interest  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent.  The  pictures  were  to  be 
found  in  a  rare  old  book  which  she  had  borrowed 
from  Mr.  Bisset's  stock.  Many  of  them  were  of 
places  which  had  vanished  already,  or  were  likely 
soon  to  be  improved  off  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  the  accuracy  of  Chrissy's  copies  almost  rivalled 
the  precision  of  the  originals. 

'  If  people  pored  over  these  things  as  Chrissy  has 
done,'  said  Miss  Griffin,  *  I  don't  think  they  could 
build  the  nasty  modern  houses  they  do.' 

'  I  don't  think  it  is  a  bad  plan  to  multiply  copies 
of  these  pictures,'  said  Chrissy,  as  if  in  excuse  for 
what  she  felt  too  many  people  would  regard  as 
wasted  labour.  *  Many  of  these  places  were  removed 
or  altered  before  photography  became  general,  and 
as  time  slowly  destroys  a  few  old  engravings,  it  will 
not  be  easy  to  find  what  the  scenes  of  great  his- 
torical events  were  like  when  they  happened.' 

'  Miss  Chrissy,'  said  Hans  in  a  low  voice,  as  Miss 
Griffin  went  to  and  fro,  on  hospitable  cares  intent, 
— '  Miss  Chrissy,  should  you  object  to  part  from  some 
of  these  drawings  ?  ' 


1 82  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  Nobody  will  want  to  part  them  from  me,  I  fear,' 
retorted  Chrissy,  laughing.  '  But  I  was  going  to 
offer  you  one — whichever  you  like  best.  I  thought 
it  might  be  this  picture  of  St.  Cecilia-in-the-Garden, 
as  it  used  to  look  when  all  the  trees  were  about  it.' 

'Thank  you.  Miss  Chrissy,'  said  Hans, — 'thank 
you  very  much  indeed  ;  and  you  were  right  in 
thinking  that  it  would  be  my  choice  for  myself 
He  spoke  English  fluently  now,  his  recent  know- 
ledge of  it  only  evidenced  by  an  occasional  formality. 
'  But  I  w^as  thinking — when  I  go  abroad — I  shall  go 
into  very  out-of-the-way  places,  among  all  sorts  of 
German  and  English  people,  with  many  old  associa- 
tions with  Britain  and  the  Rhineland.  I  think  some 
of  them  might  appreciate  these  drawings.  Could 
you  trust  a  few  of  them  with  me  .'' ' 

'You  shall  take  them  all,'  said  Chrissy,  her  face 
aglow  with  hope  and  delight.  '  I  will  trim  them  off, 
and  mount  them  nicely,  and  make  up  a  little  port- 
folio of  them.  How  clever  of  you  to  think  of  it, 
Hans — Mr.  Krinken  !  What  a  delightful  venture  it 
will  be !  Nothing  will  be  lost  if  it  fails,  and  what 
pure  pleasure  and  gain  if  it  succeeds  ! ' 

Hans  came  back  many  times  during  those  last 
few  weeks.  Except  the  very  last  visit,  he  never  came 
without  some  reasonable  excuse.  He  brought  card- 
board for  Chrissy 's  drawings,  hunting  out  of  the 
wholesale  warehouses  some  of  a  specially  suitable 


A   VENTURE.  183 

size  and  tint ;  he  had  a  portfoHo  made  to  order  for 
them,  light  but  strong  and  waterproof;  or  he  came 
to  give  Miss  Griffin  instructions  concerning  the  size 
of  his  stockings,  or  the  quahty.  But  that  last 
evening  (he  was  to  sail  on  the  morrow)  he  came  in 
quietly,  and  offered  no  excuse. 

'  I  suppose  it  is  really  good-bye  to-night,  Miss 
Christina,'  he  said,  when  they  were  left  alone  for  a 
moment. 

'  Not  to-night,'  Chrissy  answered,  bending  her 
head  low  over  her  work.  '  Miss  Griffin  and  I  will 
come  to  the  dock  to-morrow  to  see  you  off.  We 
have  never  seen  an  emigrant  ship,'  she  added  shyly. 

And  so  the  two  women  went  down,  through  a 
wilderness  of  meagre  crowded  streets,  which  even 
Miss  Griffin,  dweller  in  London  all  her  long  life,  had 
never  seen  before.  They  stood  on  the  crowded  quay 
among  the  groups  of  emigrants,  some  tearful,  some 
tearless  in  the  terrible  meaning  of  that  word,  but 
most  simply  eager  and  excited,  as  if  there  was  little 
to  regret  behind  and  all  to  hope  before.  There  were 
stalwart  agricultural  labourers,  with  their  apple- 
cheeked  families  ;  there  were  shrewd  town  mechanics 
with  their  wives  and  old-faced  children  ;  there  were 
sweet-voiced  Irish  Biddys  and  hard-faced  Welsh 
women  ;  there  were  worn  old  fathers  and  mothers  sent 
for  by  dutiful  children,  and  going  out,  as  it  seemed, 
chiefly  to  lay  their  bones  where  those  children  could 


1 84  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

look  upon  their  graves.  Miss  Griffin  and  Chrissy 
threaded  their  way  among  the  crowd,  till  they  came 
to  the  group  of  fair -haired,  blue -eyed  Germans, 
clinging  together  mute  amid  the  Babel  around  them. 

Presently  Hans  appeared  on  the  scene.  Mr.  Bil- 
dcrdyk  was  with  him.  When  the  old  merchant  saw 
the  lad  lift  his  hat  in  salutation,  he  asked  briefly — 

'  Friends  of  yours  .-' ' 

'  Miss  Miller  and  her  friend  Miss  Griffin,'  Hans 
answered  as  briefly. 

Mr.  Bilderdyk  looked  shrewdly  at  the  pair.  He  had 
no  doubt  as  to  which  was  Miss  Miller.  Of  course, 
it  was  the  elder  woman.     His  eye  went  on  to  the  girl. 

*  A  pleasant  face,'  he  thought ;  *  perhaps  she  is  a 
particular  friend  of  my  new  clerk's — and  the  good 
old  lady  may  not  be  disinclined  to  help  him  forward 
for  her  sake.' 

'  Where  does  Miss  Miller  live  ?  '  he  asked  of  Hans, 
as  they  went  about  together  collecting  the  stragglers 
of  their  party. 

'  She  lives  with  Miss  Griffin,  sir.  She  is  still  con- 
nected with  her  father's  shop,  and  spends  the  greater 
part  of  her  day  there.'  Hans  made  this  reply  with 
flaming  cheeks.  He  knew  Mr.  Bilderdyk  had  fallen 
into  a  mistake  in  the  first  instance  concerning 
Chrissy's  identity  ;  but  now,  with  her  before  his  eyes, 
he  felt  quite  sure  that  the  good  Dutchman  must 
see  into  the  whole  matter.      It  is  always  hard  to 


A    VENTURE.  185 

believe  that  affairs  important  to  our  own  hearts,  and  ( 
wholly  occupying  them,  are  not  perfectly  lucid  to , 
our  neighbours. 

*  You  will  have  opportunity  to  spend  a  few  minutes 
with  them  at  the  very  last.  You  must  do  so.  It  will 
be  only  a  proper  token  of  respect  to  Miss  Miller,' 
said  Mr.  Bilderdyk. 

He  said  what  he  meant,  and  he  meant  no  more 
than  he  said  ;  and  poor  self-conscious  Hans,  blushing 
again,  thought  that  his  master  veiled  his  real  kind- 
ness with  delightfully  dry  humour. 

'Miss  Chrissy,'  whispered  Hans,  when,  at  last, 
the  opportunity  for  speech  was  obtained, — '  Miss 
Chrissy,  I  shall  be  away  from  England  for  one  whole 
year.  Many  things  happen  in  such  a  time.  I  shall 
find  changes.  There  are  some  things  I  should  like 
to  say,  but  ought  not  to  say  now.  Only — shall  I — 
is  it  at  all  likely  I  shall  find  foti  the  same? ' 

'  I  shall  be  the  same,'  she  said,  with  a  resolute 
emphasis.  *  There  may  be  death,  you  know ;  but 
death  does  not  change  people,  Hans.' 

And  he  was  gone.  There  was  only  one  long 
hand-clasp  from  Chrissy,  but  Miss  Griffin  put  her 
motherly  arms  round  the  youth's  neck  and  kissed 
him,  and  whispered  in  his  car — 

*  I  will  take  care  of  her.  We  will  talk  about  you, 
and  look  forward  to  your  home-coming.' 

*  God  bless  you  ! '  said  Hans  fervently. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ESTHER   GRAY, 

HRISSYdid  not  deny  to  herself 
that  Hans'  absence  made  a 
terrible  blank  in  her  life ;  and 
the  poor  girl  began  to  realise 
the  strange  difference  which 
exists  between  separation  in  life 
and  separation  bj^  death,  with 
air  the  haunting  fears  and  cark- 
ing  unrest  which  belong  to  the 
former.  Her  father  was  gone  whence  he  could  never 
return  to  her,  but  where  she  Avas  sure  to  go  to  him. 
When  faith  was  strong,  and  life  was  calm  and  clear 
about  her — it  might  be  on  her  knees  in  her  little 
bedroom,  or  it  might  be  receiving  the  Communion 
at  St.  Cecilia's,  or  even  going  about  her  daily  duties 
in  the  dusky  crowded  streets — it  sometimes  seemed 
as  if,  in  some  sense,  she  could  follow  him  already, 
and  tarry  with  him   a  while,  and  gather  strength 

1S6 


ESTHER  GRAY.  187 

for  fainter  moods  and  stormier  days.  But  Hans ! 
Perhaps  her  last  glinipse  of  him  amid  the  bustle 
and  discomfort  of  embarkation,  was  not  soothing  or 
reassuring.  He  might  be  in  danger,  he  might  be 
among  rough  or  unkindly  people,  he  might  be  ill, 
he  might — but,  no,  there  was  one  fear  that  never 
haunted  Chrissy.  She  never  feared  lest  Hans 
should  do  other  than  honestly  and  well.  If  he 
had  been  her  brother — if  he  had  been  the  familiar 
friend  of  her  childhood,  and  nothing  more — such  a 
watchfulloving  heart  as  Chrissy's  might  well  have 
pondered  that  the  paths  of  the  world  are  dark,  and 
their  temptations  are  many,  and  that  youth  goes  out 
to  make  its  way  among  them  with  wayward  wits 
and  stormy  passions.  But  Chrissy  never  doubted 
Hans.  It  was  the  sweet  old  story  of  womanly^Jaith 
and  following. 

Yet  certainly  a  great  restlessness  fell  upon 
Chrissy.  Her  nature  had  grown  beyond  the  food 
with  which  her  life  supplied  it.  She  went  on  with 
her  work,  with  her  art-studies,  with  her  hundred 
little  feminine  duties,  with  redoubled  energy,  but 
they  did  not  exhaust  it.  She  began  to  understand 
something  of  that  mysterious  force  which  before 
now  has  driven  men  into  crusades  or  explorations, 
battling  with  human  wickedness  or  nature's  fierce- 
ness, according  to  the  times  they  lived  in,  which  has 
sent  gentle  women  to  labour  in  grim  lazar-houses  or 


1 88  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

amid  wild  heathen  populations.  What  is  it  ?  What 
can  it  be — except  the  rushing  through  the  new  clear 
channel  of  a  fresh  heart,  of  that  strange  miracle 
which  comes  nearer  the  hidden  ways  of  God  than 
any  other  manifestation  of  nature,  'the  love  that 
makes  the  world  go  round.'  Experience  makes 
us  shy  of  any  panacea  for  the  world's  sin  and 
suffering,  yet  we  almost  think  one  might  be  found 
in  the  right  direction  of  this  strong  emotional  energy, 
which,  if  left  as  it  generally  is,  to  overflow  or  to 
stagnate,  is  certainly  the  most  fruitful  source  of  sin 
and  suffering. 

In  the  new  light  and  joy  that  were  filling  her 
own  nature,  Chrissy  took  courage  to  look  into  the 
dark  places  of  human  hearts.  That  showed  what  a 
whole  nature  she  had.  We  should  always  mistrust 
the  gladness  which  makes  us  shrink  from  sadness. 
Health  and  joy  and  wisdom — what  are  they  for,  if  not 
to  make  us  strong  to  help  and  to  bear  and  to  heal  ? 
Chrissy  began  to  think  of  all  the  woful  people,  only 
born  to  wickedness,  as  it  sometimes  seems  to  us. 
When  she  saw  the  ghastly  crowd  waiting  outside  the 
casual  ward,  she  no  longer  shivered,  and  forgot  it ;  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  each  battered  limp  figure  might 
somehow,  once  upon  a  time,  have  been  made  into  a 
brave  honest  youth  like  Hans.  And  in  the  streets, 
after  dark,  she  had  heard  girls'  laughter  which  made 
her  heart  ache.     It  almost  seemed  wrong  to  be  so 


ESTHER  GRAY.  189 

happy  as  she  was,  while  these  things  went  on  !  It 
is  in  such  moods  as  these  that  an  ascetic  enthusiasm 
seizes  upon  the  nobler  young  hearts.  Miss  Grififin 
kept  Chrissy  in  the  open  ways  of  wisdom  ;  for  when 
the  girl  hinted  misgivings  concerning  her  own 
possession  of  blessings  not  shared  by  others,  she 
answered,  sensibly — 

'  Don't  you  feel  that  you  have  nothing  but  what 
you'd  wish  everybody  to  have — an  honest  living, 
good  friends,  and ' —  She  glanced  slyly  at  Chrissy, 
and  spared  the  girl  by  a  slight  pause.  '  You  haven't 
got  more  good  things  than  you  should  have  ;  it  is 
other  people  who  have  fewer.  Your  giving  yours  up 
would  not  give  them  to  thoje  that  lack  them.  A 
place  in  the  ^yorld  can  be  but  filled  ;  and  if  we  are 
fill]ng  it  ourselves,  nobody  else  can  do  more.  But  our 
very  best  things  we  can  always  share.  The  best  things 
of  life  are  like  the  five  loaves  and  the  three  small 
fishes  ;  they'll  not  give  out  till  there  is  nobody  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  for  them.  There  are  our  friends, 
for  instance,  and ' —  Another  pause.  *  The  world 
isn't  poorer  because  these  love  us.  If  they  love  us 
really,  it  is  the  richer ;  they'll  be  better  and  kinder  to 
everybody  for  our  sake.  Why,  Chrissy,  if  we  see  one 
without  hands  or  feet,  we  don't  cut  off"  ours  to  make 
ourselves  like  him ;  we  are  thankful  to  have  ours  to 
help  him,  and  to  have  our  wits,  too,  to  save  those 
accidents  from  happening  by  which  people  are  likely 


igo  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

to  lose  hands  and  feet.  I  do  think  that  whenever 
we  get  a  bit  of  happiness,  we  ought  to  look  about 
to  see  whether  there  is  any  piece  of  God's  work  that 
it  gives  us  courage  to  do.  Do  you  know,  Chrissy 
dear,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  thought  that  I  was  to 
have  your  cheerful  company  of  an  evening,  I'm  not 
sure  I'd  have  taken  heart  to  have  poor  Esther  Gray 
working  here  in  the  morning.  The  American  poet 
says — 

) "  Only  the  sorrows  of  others, 
.       Cast  their  shadows  over  me." 

But  I  really  think  the  sorrows  and  burdens  of  others 
are  harder  to  bear  than  our  own.  I've  often  thought 
that  seteing  pam  is  woj;se  than  feeling  it.  I  can't  help 
fancying  that  if  I  was  in  Esther's  place  I'd  get  some 
comfort  from  the  thought  of  God's  goodness,  and  of 
how  He  has  promised  to  put  our  sins  as  far  from  us 
as  the  east  is  from  the  west,  and  has  bidden  us  not 
to  think  of  the  things  which  are  behind,  but  to  press 

forward  to  those  which  are  before.     I  believe  Esther 

i 

has  turned  right  round  ;  but  the  more  one  sees  what 
a  deal  of  suffering  there  is  in  getting  repented-of  sin 
out  of  one's  heart  and  memory  in  this  world,  the' 
more  one  trembles  to  think  what  may  await  unre-i 
pented  sin  in  the  next.' 

And  then  Chrissy  thought  to  herself,  How  was 
it  that  she  had  forgotten  this  terrible  shadow  that 
haunted  her  daily  life  ? — its  horror  only  dimmed  by 


ESTHER  GRAY.  191 

its  familiarity.  Why-  did  her  heart  yearn  over  the 
unknown  crowds  going  down  into  the  swamps  of 
sin,  or  strugggling  out  of  them,  while  she  yet  held 
aloof  from  this  woman,  Esther  Gray,  going  and 
coming  daily  beneath  her  own  roof?  To  own  the 
truth,  Chrissy  had  always  shrank  a  little  from 
Esther's  gloomy  averted  face,  with  its  blurred  features 
and  stained  complexion,  from  the  coarse  clinging 
mourning,  worn  for  him  whom  in  the  days  of  her 
youth  she  had  loved  with  an  unhallowed  love,  for 
which  she  had  thrown  away  life's  best  hopes  and 
simplest  duties,  and  whom  she  had  lived  to  loathe 
with  an  equally  unhallowed  hatred.  In  her  presence 
Chrissy  had  never  been  able  to  forget  that  Esther 
was  under  the  shadow  of  an  awful  doubt.  Her 
husband,  her  companion  in  sin  and  degradation,  had 
died  a  sudden  and  violent  death,  and  whether  by 
accident  or  by  her  hand  no  being  in  the  world  knew. 
Not  even  Esther  herself  The  tragedy  had  been 
enacted  in  a  wild  debauch,  and  when  Esther,  coming 
to  herself  in  a  prison  cell,  heard  of  her  husband's 
death,  her  memory  remained  a  blank  concerning  all 
which  preceded  it.  A  merciful  allowance  for  possi- 
bilities, a  wide  construction  of  the  medical  evidence, 
had  let  her  go  free.  But  no  verdict  of  not  guilty 
could  efface  the  brand  of  Cain  from  the  woman's 
own  heart.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Chrissy 
Miller  should  not  shrink  from  such  an  one. 


192  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

But  now  she  remembered  how  pitifully  her  father 
had  spoken  of  the  days  of  Esther's  lost  girlish 
innocence.  Could  it  be  any  fault  of  Esther's  fellow- 
sinners  that  Esther  could  realise  no  peace  and  cheer 
in  the  thought  of  God's  forgiveness  ?  Miss  Griffin 
had  played  a  Christian's  part — she  had  opened  up  a 
way  of  honest  work  ;  and  whether  Esther  knew  it 
or  not,  was,  at  her  own  cost,  making  this  possible 
for  Esther.  But  might  not  some  lighter  touch  of 
human  fellowship  be  awanting  —  something  that 
might  seem  less  a  working  out  the  redemption  of 
the  sinner  than  a  friendly  greeting  for  a  sinner  who 
was  redeemed  ? 

It  was  the  first  anniversary  of  Mr.  Miller's  death. 
It  was  the  evening  before  this  which  was  terrible  to 
Chrissy.  Its  very  lights  and  shadows,  its  very 
atmosphere,  brought  back  that  evening  in  Saint 
Cecilia's,  Mr.  Bentley's  sermon,  and  all  the  aspira- 
tions it  awoke,  and  that  last  talk  afterwards  in  the 
counting  -  house.  Mrs.  Bisset,  who  was  far  too 
friendly  with  Chrissy  not  to  know  all  the  dates  of 
her  life,  and  their  significance,  had  bidden  her 
husband  give  his  girl-assistant  a  half-holiday  that 
evening,  and  a  whole  holiday  on  the  morrow. 

Chrissy  had  her  little  plan  of  loving  remembrance. 
She  took  the  train  to  Epping  Forest, — she  knew  an 
unfrequented  glade  where  wild  roses  and  sweet  field- 
flowers  of  many  kinds  still  flourished.     She  would 


ESTHER  GRAY.  193 

gather  a  great  basketful,  and  then  next  day  she 
would  select  the  freshest  and  twine  them  in  a  wreath 
to  lay  on  her  father's  grave,  in  the  great  dreary 
cemetery,  where  his  ashes  lay  lonely,  for  Chrissy's 
mother  had  been  buried  in  a  little  local  graveyard 
long  since  closed  by  wise  sanitary  law. 

Chrissy  got  her  flowers.  She  had  a  hard  struggle 
for  some  of  the  richest  boughs  of  roses,  for  she  was 
only  a  little  body.  How  easily  her  tall  father  had 
broken  them  for  her  in  that  very  glade  !  Never 
mind  if  there  were  some  bitter  heart-rent  sobs  in 
that  sunny  corner.  God  heard  them,  and  so  did 
His  trees  and  His  daisies.  Perhaps  there  was  a 
little  hot  dew  on  the  grass  where  Chrissy  had  pressed 
her  face  for  one  short  moment.  But  she  had  no 
time  to  lose.  She  filled  her  basket  as  full  as  it 
would  hold,  and,  going  home  in  the  train,  she  gave 
two  bonnie  blossoms  to  a  bab«,  who  crowed  in  its 
father's  arms  and  stretched  out  its  little  hands 
towards  her  treasures. 

She  set  the  beautiful  basket  out  on  the  window- 
ledge  in  Miss  Griffin's  staircase,  that  it  might  get 
the  benefit  of  all  the  air  that  blew  into  the  dusky 
old  house.  It  did  look  very  lovely !  Chrissy  stole 
out  of  her  bedroom  more  than  once  to  gaze  upon  it. 
For  it  was  not  often  nowadays  that  the  London- 
pent  girl  saw  wild  roses. 

The  next  morning  she  was  early  astir  to  make 


194  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

preparations  for  her  sweet-sad  pilgrimage.  There- 
fore Miss  Griffin  indulged  in  a  little  longer  repose, 
and  Chrissy  herself  admitted  Esther  Gray.  She  left 
the  dismal  woman  to  her  accustomed  tasks,  and 
went  back  to  her  own  bedroom. 

For  a  long  time  she  heard  Esther  Gray's  broom 
at  work.  But  suddenly  the  sound  ceased,  and  there 
was  profound  silence.  There  are  some  silences 
which  call  us  more  loudly  than  any  cry,  and,  oddly 
enough,  this  silence  arrested  Chrissy's  attention, 
She  opened  her  bedroom  door,  and  looked  out. 
The  dismal  woman  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
basket  of  roses,  her  two  hands  spread  out  on  the 
window-sill,  and  her  eyes  gazing  into  the  rose- 
clusters  with  awful  tearless  agony. 

For  a  moment  Chrissy  remembered  all  the  sin, 
all  the  degradation,  all  the  crime.  But  next  minute 
she  thought  of  her  father's  words,  and  of  all  the 
terrible  abysses  which  yawn  round  human  lives,  the 
slippery  edges  thereof  veiled  with  honey  flowers. 

She  stepped  forward,  and  put  her  hand  on 
Esther's  arm. 

'  Esther ! '  she  said. 

The  woman  started,  and  stood  upright.  But  she 
did  not  turn  towards  Chrissy,  nor  lift  her  eyes  from 
the  flowers. 

*  Aren't  they  beautiful  ? '  Chrissy  whispered.  *  Does 
not  God  give  us  lovely  gifts? ' 


'she  stepped  forward.' — p.  194. 


ESTHER  GRAY.  197 

The  woman  threw  up  her  hands  and  clasped 
them  about  her  head,  and  cried  out  with  an  exceed- 
ing bitter  cry.  Chrissy  was  so  startled  that  she 
scarcely  knew  what  to  do.  But  nature  had  her  wise 
way.  After  the  convulsion,  which,  as  it  were,  rent 
Esther  Gray's  soul  and  body,  the  merciful  tears 
came,  and  she  stood  sobbing.  And  presently,  amid 
the  sobs,  there  were  words.  Chrissy  bent  forward 
to  catch  them. 

*  He  gathered  wild  roses  for  me  once — long  ago 
when  we  went  out  together.  I  haven't  seen  wild 
roses  for  years  and  years  !  And  they  brought  it  all 
back  ;  I  wish  we'd  seen  them  once  again — while  we 
were  together ! ' 

Chrissy  understood  that  Esther  was  speaking  of 
the  unhappy  husband  whose  life  had  ruined  and 
haunted  her  life,  and  whose  violent  death  must 
haunt  it  to  the  end.  She  scarcely  knew  what  to 
say.     But  Esther  went  on — 

*  Since  I've  tried  to  live  a  better  life,  the  old  days 
have  come  back  upon  me,  and  I  remember  him  as 
he  used  to  be,  and  I  can't  think  how  I  ever  changed 
towards  him.  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  able  to  bear 
it  all.  I'm  like  a  dirty  thing  picked  out  of  the  mud. 
I'd  better  be  thrown  back  again  out  of  sight  of 
everybody — even  myself.' 

'No,  no,  Esther,'  said  Chrissy.  'You  would  not 
be  out  of  God's  sight' 


198  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  The  more  the  pity,  then  ! '  she  cried  passionately. 
*  For  ke  is  out  of  God's  sight.' 

*  Nay,  nay,'  whispered  Chrissy,  trembling ;  '  we 
must  not  pass  judgment  on  our  worst  enemy,  much 
less  on  those  who  have  sinned  and  suffered  with  us. 
And  there  can  be  no  place  in  the  universe,  Esther, 
out  of  God's  sight.' 

Esther  Gray  raised  her  head  suddenly,  like  one 
roused  by  an  unexpected  hope. 

'  But  you  don't  know  what  my  loneliness  is,'  she 
resumed  dully,  '  and  I'm  not  like  you,  I  can't  amuse 
myself  with  pretty  innocent  work.  I  can't  think  of 
happy  things ;  I  must  not — there  are  none  for  me 
to  think  about.  When  I  go  home  at  night,  I'm  too 
tired  to  do  anything  but  sit  still  and  mope.  I  don't 
try  even  to  sleep  more  than  I  must,  because  I  have 
such  bad  dreams.' 

Chrissy's  mind  just  now  was  very  open  to  all 
impressions  received  at  this  time  last  year.  In  her 
perplexity,  she  remembered  the  question  whose  use 
Mr.  Bentley  had  suggested  in  his  memorable  ser- 
mon at  St.  Cecilia's  :  '  What  would  Jesus  do  ? ' 

'Would  you  like  me  to  come  and  sit  with  you  for 
a  little  sometimes  ? '  she  asked  gently,  after  a  pause. 

*  Oh,  Miss  Chrissy  ! '  said  Esther,  looking  round  in 
amaze,  but  shaking  her  head  as  she  answered, — *  Oh, 
Miss  Chrissy,  but  you  couldn't  come !  I'm  in  the 
very  room  where  it  happened.' 


ESTHER  GRAY.  199 

It  was  too  true,  horrid  as  it  seemed.  The 
miserable  woman  had  crept  back,  like  a  wild  beast 
to  its  lair.  Her  little  possessions  were  there,  and 
the  now  resident  landlord  had  known  that  whatever 
his  tenant's  other  faults  might  be,  she  would  be 
honest  as  far  as  she  could,  and  so  he  had  let  her 
return,  after  her  unsatisfactory  acquittal. 

*  I  know,'  said  Chrissy,  *  I  know ;  but  God  is  there 
too,  Esther.' 

'It's  scarcely  fit  for  human  beings  to  live  in,' 
Esther  went  on,  '  but  it  was  good  enough  for  us  and 
our  ways,  and  it's  good  enough  for  me  now.  I've 
no  right  to  aught  better.' 

*  I'll  come  this  very  evening,  Esther,'  said  Chrissy. 

*  Not  this  evening,  miss  ?  '  repeated  Esther. 

*  Yes,'  said  Chrissy  ;  *  why  not  ? ' 

'  I  know  what  the  date  is  to  you,'  cried  Esther, 
•  and  I  know  what  you  lost  this  time  last  year.  Oh, 
dear !  what  a  good  man  your  father  was !  "  God 
help  you,  Esther  Gray  !  "  he  said  to  me,  when  first 
I  came  out  of  prison ;  "  God  help  you,  and  God 
bless  you  !  "  It  was  not  much,  but  I  know  he  meant 
a  deal.  When  he  died,  I  felt  as  if  I'd  lost  some- 
body I  might  have  looked  to.' 

Chrissy's  own  tears  were  falling  fast. 

'  We'll  talk  about  him  together  this  evening, 
Esther,'  she  said. 

'  I    don't   like   your   coming   to   my  dismal  hole 


200  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

to-day,'  Esther  pleaded.  '  When  the  spirit's  sad 
and  sorry,  it  needs  a  little  cheeriness.  It  does.  I 
know  that,  because  I  go  awanting  it' 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  Chrissy.  It  seemed 
as  if  her  father's  voice  whispered  in  her  heart  those 
sweet  words  of  the  Master's — '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done 
it  unto  Me.' 

'  Take  my  roses,  Esther,'  she  said  eagerly.  '  They 
will  make  your  room  bright  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I 
shall  see  them  when  I  come  at  night.' 

Esther  knew  nothing  of  Chrissy's  holiday,  or  the 
pathetic  excursion  she  had  planned  for  it.  It  was 
not  for  Chrissy  to  tell  her  what  it  cost  to  give  her 
this  pleasure.  Esther  poured  out  her  thanks — only 
was  she  not  '  robbing '  Chrissy  ?  though,  to  be  sure, 
the  room  would  be  the  brighter  when  she  came, 
since  she  would  persist  in  being  so  good. 

*  No,  you  are  not  robbing  me  in  the  least,'  Chrissy 
answered.  '  Only ' — and  she  gently  disengaged  one 
rich  bough  from  the  mass  of  blossoms — '  I  should 
like  to  take  this  for — somebody  else.' 

'  Oh,  won't  you  take  more  for  them  t '  Esther 
asked  innocently. 

'  No,'  said  Chrissy.  '  I  am  sure — somebody  else 
— would  far  rather  you  had  them.* 

Esther  carried  off  the  flowers.  And  when  Miss 
Griffin    came    out   of  her   room,   and  missed  them, 


ESTHER  GRAY.  201 

she   exclaimed,   but    Chrissy    silenced    her   with   a 
kiss — 

'Don't  you  remember  what  the  angel  said  at 
Jesus'  grave  ? '  asked  the  girl.  *  He  said,  "  He  is 
not  here,  for  He  is  risen."  Jesus  only  came  there 
for  one  moment  to  comfort  weeping  Mary — and 
then  she  scarcely  knew  Him.  But  the  hand- 
maidens who  must  have  set  the  supper-tables  for 
the  disciples  found  they  had  set  for  the  Master 
too !  So,  surely,  if  there  is  one  place  where  the 
spirits  of  the  just  are  least  likely  to  linger,  it  is 
at  their  own  graves ;  and  the  best  offering  we 
can  make  to  the  departed  is  help  and  seryice  to 
those  still  with  us.' 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

AN  ANNIVERSARY. 


HRISSY  made  her 
pilgrimage  to  the 
cemetery  alone. 
It  certainly  did  not 
matter  to  her  father 
where  his  ashes  lay, 
but  it  did  seem  a 
little  hard  that  one 
who  had  kept  about 
himself  the  quaint 
individuality  of  the 
Shield  Street 
house,  and  had 
held  in  utter  dislike  the  uniform  rows  of  pretentious 
vulgarity  which  are  springing  up  round  all  huge 
cities,  should  have  been  carried  by  others  to  a  large 
necropolis,  scant  of  tree  and  bare  of  grass,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  fungi  of  undertakers'  shops  and  masons' 
yards,  thriving  on  conventional  woe,  and  doing  their 


AN  ANNIVERSARY.  203 

best  to  desecrate  the  solemn  regions  of  death  and 
sorrow. 

Chrissy  had  had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  The 
selection  of  a  grave  had  been  made  by  Aunt  Kezia, 
certain  Daffys  of  respectability  and  wealth  having 
been  among  the  first  people  interred  in  that  cemetery. 
In  fact,  some  shares  in  it  were  among  the  Daffy 
investments,  so  that  Aunt  Kezia  had  been  able  to 
buy  the  grave  '  at  an  advantage,'  as  she  expressed 
it,  and  poor  hpnest  Chrissy,  anxious  that  every 
penny  of  her  father's  estate  should  be  spared  for  its 
dreadful  debt  to  the  creditors  of  the  Metropolitan 
Bank,  had  therefore  raised  no  objection. 

Among  the  vast  wilderness  of  gravestones — only 
varied  here  and  there  by  pretentious  catafalques, 
looking  not  unlike  petrified  four-posters — Chrissy 
found  her  father's  grave.  She  found  it  by  its 
number.  It  had  nothing  but  a  tiny  wooden 
memorial-mark  —  already  mildewed  —  and  its  turf 
was  rough  and  poor.  And  as  Chrissy  stood  beside 
it,  she  thought  that  it  was  well  that  she  had  already 
recalled  the  angel's  words.  No,  her  father  was  '  not 
there.'  She  kissed  her  sweet  spray  of  wild  rose, 
and  laid  it  gently  on  the  blackened  sod,  and 
turned  away. 

As  she  turned,  she  saw  two  figures  advancing 
towards  her,  down  the  straight  narrow  path.  They 
were  her  sister  Helen  and  her  Aunt  Kezia. 


204  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Helen  had  a  v/reath  of  immortelles  in  her  hand, 
and  the  first  glance  showed  Chrissy  that  she  looked 
pale  and  unhappy.  Chrissy  did  not  wonder  at  it, 
for  she  could  not  imagine  that  Aunt  Kezia's  com- 
panionship Qn  such  an  occasion  would  be  either 
soothing  or  inspiriting. 

*  Well,  Chrissy,'  said  Miss  Daffy,  '  I  thought  we 
should  not  see  you  here.  I  fancied  you  were  so 
devoted  to  business  that  you  would  not  think  of 
taking  a  holiday.  Dear  me !  how  miserable  the 
grave  looks,  doesn't  it  ^  Who  can  have  put  down 
that  trumpery  wild-flower,  I  wonder  ?  You,  Chrissy  ! 
You  won't  like  to  leave  it  there  beside  Helen's 
wreath,  I  reckon.  That  did  not  cost  less  than 
five  shillings.' 

'  It  cost  more  than  that,'  said  Helen.  '  I  should 
not  have  liked  to  bring  a  cheap  thing.' 

She  did  not  add  that  she  had  borrowed  the 
money  from  a  fellow- work  woman,  having  spent  every 
shilling  of  her  own  upon  summer  additions  to  her 
wardrobe. 

'You'll  be  thinking  of  putting  up  a  memorial 
stone  soon,  I  suppose,  Chrissy?'  Miss  Daffy  went 
on.  'To-day  would  be  a  very  good  opportunity 
for  ordering  one,  when  we  are  all  here  to  consult 
together  in  the  selection.  I  should  not  mind 
contributing  a  trifle.  We  must  not  ask  Helen  for 
anything    just    now,    because     she    has    less    cash 


AN  ANNIVERSARY.  205 

payment  than  you,  and  is  obliged  to  keep  up  so 
much  more  appearance.  You  must  have  saved  a 
good  deal  of  money,  Chrissy.  You  must  be  able  to 
spare  six  or  seven  pounds  at  least,  and  you  could 
not  spend  it  in  a  more  meritorious  way.' 

'I  am  not  thinking  of  putting  up  a  memorial 
stone  now,'  said  Chrissy  with  a  beating  heart.  '1 
shall  put  up  a  little  stone  cross  some  day — some- 
thing that  will  mark  the  grave  for  us  permanently. 
But  I  cannot  do  even  that  just  now,'  she  added 
resolutely,  hoping  to  put  an  end  to  Miss  Daffy's 
solicitations. 

'Oh,  well,'  said  Aunt  Kezia,  'just  as  you  please  ; 
only  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  liked 
to  show  every  possible  respect  to  your  father.  Of 
course  I  have  no  reason  to  interfere.  He  was  not 
a  blood  relation  of  mine,  you  know.  Nobody  can 
blame  me  for  whatever  you  choose  to  omit' 

Chrissy  might  have  known  that  it  would  be  as 
well  to  drop  the  subject,  but  she  was  stung  into 
rejoining — 

'  Father  did  not  care  for  large  and  costly 
memorials.  He  used  to  say  the  stones  and  the 
money  would  be  better  employed  in  improving  poor 
people's  houses  than  in  making  barren  the  resting- 
place  of  those  who  can  no  longer  feel  cold  or  damp. 
But  I  do  wish  he  had  been  buried  where  flowers 
would  grow,'  she  added  impulsively. 


2o6  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Aunt  Kezia  shook  her  head  significantly. 

*I  know  we  had  a  deal  of  trouble  to  get  your 
father  to  do  the  usual  proper  things  when  your  poor 
mother  died.  He  always  had  queer  views.  It's 
odd  how  such  things  turn  round  on  people's  own 
heads  at  last.  Well,  well  —  there's  nothing  like 
making  oneself  as  comfortable  as  one  can  while  one 
lives,  for  when  one's  dead,  one  is  soon  forgotten. 
But  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  you  shouldn't  put  up 
any  memorial  just  now.  If  people  who  had  lost 
through  folks  taking  shares  in  the  Great  Metropolitan 
when  they  had  no  estates  fit  to  meet  the  share's 
liabilities,  should  see  a  memorial,  they  might  say 
ugly  things.  When  a  blunder  has  been  made,  it  is 
best  to  court  no  comment.' 

Chrissy's  heart  swelled.  She  moved  from  the 
grave.  She  could  not  bear  to  hear  her  aunt's 
speeches  beside  it. 

'  Now,  we'll  go  and  see  the  Daffy  tomb,'  said 
Aunt  Kezia  cheerfully.  '  It  is  in  the  first-class 
ground,  of  course,  for  Cousin  Daffy  was  very 
particular,  and  had  everything  of  the  best.  He 
made  his  fortune  out  in  the  East  Indies.  He 
managed  to  make  an  extra  sharp  bargain  with 
Government  over  some  matter.  We  heard  there 
might  have  been  a  fuss  about  it,  but  it  was  hushed 
up.  It  was  said  that  was  because  the  Government 
servants  were   afraid  they  would  be   compromised. 


AN  ANNIVERSAR  Y.  207 

That  was  said,  you  know  ;  but  perhaps  Cousin  Daffy 
made  it  worth  their  while  to  keep  quiet.  Going 
abroad  was  a  fine  thing  in  those  days,  when  the 
natives  were  not  up  to  things  as  they  are  now,  and 
a  good  deal  might  be  made  out  of  them.  Cousin 
Daffy  was  the  best  business  man  I  ever  knew,  and 
was  my  first  adviser  about  money  matters.  That 
is  his  grave,  girls.' 

She  pointed  to  one  of  the  largest  and  heaviest 
erections  in  the  cemetery. 

'  Only  two  of  his  wives  are  buried  there,'  she  went 
on.  *  He  had  three,  you  know,  but  the  second  was 
one  of  the  Burgesses  of  Strathallerton,  and  so  she  left 
directions  that  she  was  to  be  buried  in  her  own 
family's  vault  at  her  own  place ;  for,  of  course,  the 
Burgesses  were  county  people,  and  quite  above  the 
Daffys  in  that  way,  for  my  cousin  would  never  buy 
land,  because  it  brings  in  such  a  poor  percentage. 
Cousin  Daffy  used  to  say  he  married  his  first  wife 
for  money,  his  second  for  position,  and  his  third  to 
please  himself.  She  was  quite  a  young  girl  when 
he  was  an  old  man,  and  she  could  have  married 
him  only  for  his  money ;  and  he  left  her  very  well 
off  provided  she  never  married  again,  and  she  was 
not  to  have  a  penny  if  she  did.  Oh,  he  was  a  shrewd 
man.  Cousin  Daffy,  and  a  credit  to  the  family!  When 
your  poor  mother  died,  I  wanted  your  father  to  buy 
a  grave  for  her  close  to  this  monument.     I'm  sure  it 


2o8  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

would  have  done  him  good  in  his  business  if  he  had 
kept  his  marriage  connection  with  Cousin  Daffy 
well  under  the  world's  eyes.  But  he  had  his  ways, 
poor  man,  and  you  seem  to  take  after  him,  Chrissy.' 

Chrissy  drew  herself  up  proudly.  Those  words, 
uttered  in  scoff,  atoned  for  all  the  pain.  Our  highest 
praise  is  sometimes  given  us  in  the  form  of  blame. 

The  aunt  moved  on  towards  the  gate  of  the 
cemetery.     The  two  girls  followed  behind. 

*  I  have  not  seen  much  of  the  Ackroyds  lately, 
Helen,'  said  Chrissy.  '  When  did  you  see  them  last  ? ' 

'Not  for  some  weeks,'  answered  Helen.  'James 
has  not  come  to  Aunt  Kezia's  lately.  Have  you 
heard  anything  about  him,  Chrissy  ? ' 

*  No,'  answered  Chrissy,  surprised.     '  Have  you  ? ' 

'  Oh,  only  a  sort  of  vague  rumour — the  gossip 
which  always  goes  about,'  replied  Helen  shortly. 
She  evidently  did  not  care  to  be  questioned,  and 
Chrissy,  mystified,  dropped  the  subject. 

At  the  gate  of  the  cemetery  Miss  Daffy  gave 
Chrissy  a  careless  invitation  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  day  with  her ;  but  Chrissy  was  not  sorry  that 
her  promise  to  Esther  Gray  enabled  her  to  plead 
previous  engagement. 

She  walked  home  to  Shield  Street  with  a  burning 
heart.  Yes,  it  was  quite  true  that  people  had  lost 
by  her  father.  The  claim  on  his  share  in  the  Great 
Metropolitan  Bank  was  four  thousand  pounds,  and 


AN  A NNI VERSAR  Y.  209 

the  whole  of  his  property  had  only  amounted  to  two 
thousand  five  hundred.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  had 
given  his  life  with  it.  It  was  equally  true  that  he 
had  taken  the  share  in  the  dark,  off  the  hands  of  a 
man  whose  property  would  not  have  been  worth 
nearly  so  much.  But  Chrissy  could  remember  none 
of  these  things  at  this  moment.  There  would  run 
in  her  head  the  lines  from  the  familiar  song — 

'  He  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 
For  he  owes  not  any  man.' 

And  was  her  father  one  of  whom  that  could  not 
be  said  .<*  Oh,  what  would  he  have  done  if  he  had 
lived !  Ah !  she  knew.  He  would  have  begun 
life  again,  and  set  himself  to  toil,  no  longer  for  his 
own  future  or  the  well-being  of  those  he  loved,  but 
to  repay  to  the  uttermost  farthing  the  debt  in  which 
a  moment's  want  of  caution  had  involved  him.  He 
had  lain  down  to  his  last  rest  with  his  Bible  open 
at  the  fifteenth  Psalm  ;  and  among  its  traits  of  the 
just  man  was  one  which  his  daughter  was  sure  he 
would  have  acted  out — '  He  that  sweareth  to  his 
own  hurt,  and  changeth  not.' 

Then  Chrissy  must  herself  take  up  the  task  which 

God  had  taken  from  her  father  by  removing  him  to 

Himself     But  to  her  the  task  would  mean  carrying 

a  burden  all  her  days,  and  leaving  it  unfulfilled  at 

last.     One    thousand    five   hundred   pounds !     And 

Aunt  Kezia  said  women  never  made  fortunes!    And 

o 


2IO  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

truly  Chrissy  had  not  aspired  to  making  so  much 
money  as  this,  but  only  to  amass  such  a  sum  as 
might  buy  some  little  business,  and  secure  herself 
a  competent  independence  thereby. 

'  I  must  do  what  I  can,'  said  Chrissy,  with  the  hot 
tears  in  her  eyes.  '  Perhaps  it  is  good  for  me  to  feel 
what  it  is  to  have  to  live  under  a  shame  and  blame 
which  can  never  be  wiped  away.  If  they  are  so 
hard  to  bear  when  they  are  not  one's  fault,  what 
must  it  be  when  they  are  ?  ' 

And  her  heart  yearned  towards  Esther  Gray — no 
longer  in  mere  pity,  but  in  that  fellowship  of  pain 
and  loss  on  which  alone  Divine  Law  has  ordained 
that  help  and  redemption  can  come. 

'  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  lent  those  ten 
pounds  to  Hans  Krinken,'  she  asked  herself.  '  One 
must  be  just  before  one  is  generous,  I  know.  And 
yet — those  ten  pounds  are  not  lost.  Hans  will  pay 
me  again,  if  he  lives.  [Little  did  she  dream  of  the 
precautions  he  had  taken.]  And  surely  one  has  a 
right  to  make  such  a  venture  as  that !  I  think  I 
recollect  Bishop  Jeremy  Tayloi*  said  something  on 
that  matter.  I  shall  look  it  up  in  his  "  Holy 
Living  "  directly  I  get  home.  I  do  hope  I  shall  not 
have  to  feel  I  was  wrong  in  lending  that  to  Hans  ! ' 

And  when  she  went  home,  she  was  comforted. 
Bishop  Taylor's  opinion  was  as  follows.  For  though 
the  good  bishop  said  sternly  enough — '  He  that  gives 


AN  ANNIVERSAR  K  211 

to  the  poor  what  is  not  his  own,  makes  himself  the 
thief  and  the  poor  the  receiver  ; '  yet  he  went  on — 
'  This  is  not  to  be  understood  as  if  it  were  un- 
lawful for  a  man  that  is  not  able  to  pay  his  debts 
to  give  smaller  alms  to  the  poor.  He  may  not  give 
such  portions  as  can  in  any  sense  disable  him  to  do 
justice ;  but  such  as,  if  they  were  saved,  could  not 
advance  the  other  duty,  may  retire  to  this.' 

'  I  have  only  lent,'  mused  Chrissy  ;  'all  I  have 
really  given  is  the  very  small  risk  of  some  accident 
preventing  my  being  repaid.' 

She  knew,  of  course,  that  the  law  set  her  free 
from  her  father's  debt ;  that  if  she  gained  a  million 
on  the  morrow,  not  a  penny  could  be  claimed  from 
her  for  a  Metropolitan  Bank  creditor,  though  he 
might  be  starving.  But  law  is  made  for  lack  of 
love.  Love  knows  no  law,  being  above  and  beyond 
all  law.  Chrissy  saw  that  the  law  was  just,  in  so  far 
protecting  the  innocent  from  suffering  for  the  sins 
and  follies  of  those  whose  very  name  and  blood 
they  would  cheerfully  surrender  if  they  might. 
Only  the  law  which  was  just  enough  for  such  as 
those,  was  absolutely  unmeaning  to  one  who,  like 
her,  longed  for  nothing  so  much  as  utter  unity  with 
her  father,  owing  all  to  him,  and  longing  to  bear  his 
burdens,  and  to  suffer  and  conquer  in  his  cause. 

She  spent  the  evening  with  Esther  Gray.  She 
did  not  wonder  now  that  Esther  could  not  hope  she 


212  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

had  not  been  guilty  of  the  worst — could  not  joy- 
fully believe  in  God's  forgiveness  even  if  she  had. 
It  was  the  simple  goodness  of  her  father  which  had 
bound  a  weight  on  Chrissy's  dutiful  life,  but  it 
sufficed  to  give  her  sympathy  with  that  sense  of 
hopeless  struggle — that  realisation  of  '  never  more  ' 
— which  was  crushing  Esther  to  the  earth. 

The  woman  felt  that  the  girl  was  nearer  to  her, 
even,  than  she  had  been  in  the  morning  ;  and  as  they 
sat  together  in  the  dusk  in  the  dull  room,  watching 
the  dim  city  sunlight  fade  over  dreary  back  walls, 
she  spoke  out  from  the  depths  of  her  misery — 

'  I  wish  I'd  been  found  guilty.  I  believe  capital 
punishment  is  mercy  to  such  as  I  am.  A  life  for  a 
life.  It  seems  the  natural  thing.  And  I  begin  to 
think  there's  no  peace  for  them  as  miss  it' 

'  Esther,'  said  Chrissy  suddenly,  scarcely  knowing 
her  own  words  before  she  uttered  them, — '  Esther, 
perhaps  it  is  so.  You  may  owe  your  life.  But  you 
needn't  throw  it  away  in  waste.  Lives  are  wanted. 
Lives  are  always  being  risked  for  good  ends.  Find 
some  duty,  which  somebody  must  do,  in  which  life 
is  always  in  danger,  and  then,  Esther,  do  it !  If 
God  takes  your  life  from  you  in  that  way,  you  will 
have  redeemed  with  your  life  the  life  of  the  person 
who  must  otherwise  have  done  that  duty.  It  will 
be  a  life  for  a  life,  Esther,  after  all  ! ' 

Esther  sprang  to  her  feet.     Yes,  as  Chrissy  looked 


AN  ANNIVERSAR  Y.  213 

up  at  her,  she  could  now  believe  that  in  her  youth 
she  had  been  beautiful ! 

*  That's  it ! '  she  cried.  *  That's  the  very  thing  ! 
Dear,  how  clear  puzzles  always  are  when  they're 
found  out!  But  then,'  and  a  shadov/  of  fear  darkened 
her  brightened  face,  *  it  is  the  right  thing ;  but  how 
is  it  to  be  done  ?  Women  are  not  let  do  dangerous 
work  in  mines  nowadays.' 

'  There  is  the  small  -  pox  hospital,'  suggested 
Chrissy  timidly.  'You  are  not  a  trained  nurse,  but 
they  always  want  strong,  capable,  willing  women.' 

*  That  will  do,'  said  Esther,  sitting  down  with  a 
sigh  of  intense  relief.  *  Only  I'll  have  to  get  you  or 
Miss  Griffin  to  write  and  tell  some  of  the  head  people 
who  I  am,  for  I  won't  go  in  under  any  false  pretences. 
Oh  dear,  what  a  blessed  help  it  will  be  to  have  some- 
body to  be  kind  to  !  And  when  the  poor  souls  are 
raving,  maybe  they'll  fancy  I'm  their  mother,  or 
some  good  friend  !  Oh,  Miss  Chrissy,  your  father 
was  one  of  God's  saints,  and  isn't  it  odd  that  it  should 
be  on  the  very  anniversary  of  his  death  that  you 
should  come  and  give  me  a  new  hope  .-'  For  I  could 
not  have  held  out  much  longer.  Despair  had  nigh 
got  hold  of  me,  and  I  mind  hearing  an  old  minister 
say,  "  Despair  was  the  devil's  fishing-rod." ' 

'Yes,  it  was  strange,'  thought  Chrissy,  sitting 
silent.  '  Her  father's  death-day — was  it  not  rather 
his  new  birth-day?     And  was  not  any  service  done 


214  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

to  this  poor  soul,  the  one  gift  which  could  surely 
reach  him  where  he  stood  among  those  angels  of 
God,  who  rejoice  over  the  repenting  sinner?' 

They  had  a  little  more  quiet  talk.  They  spoke 
together  of  Mr.  Bentley's  sermon  on  that  summer 
night  in  St.  Cecilia's-in-the-Garden. 

'  That  was  the  first  uplift  I  got,'  Esther  narrated. 
'  Do  you  remember  how  he  said  Jesus  called  each 
of  us  "  brother  " — "  sister  "  ?  That  stuck  by  me  for 
a  long  while.  I  think  he  must  be  a  good  man,  that 
Mr.  Bentley.  And  he's  got  troubles  of  his  own,  toO; 
I  reckon.' 

'  Most  people  have,'  said  Chrissy ;  '  but  what 
makes  you  think  so  in  Mr.  Bentley's  case.-* ' 

'  There  is  a  son  of  his  who  is  very  wild,'  replied 
Esther.  '  I  used  to  see  him  at  taverns  and  gaming- 
places  when  I  went  hanging  about  such,  waiting  for 
my  poor  husband.  I  happened  to  hear  his  name, 
and  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman  in  the 
country.  He  was  a  clerk  in  the  Great  Metropolitan 
Bank  before  it  failed,  you  know.  And  the  very 
night  after  I  was  acquitted,  I  went  out  after  dark  to 
get  some  food,  and  I  met  him,  half-intoxicated,  in 
charge  of  your  old  neighbour  Mr.  Ackroyd.  On  the 
day  of  your  papa's  death,  I  saw  the  same  young 
man  in  company  with  the  Mr.  Bentley  who  had 
preached  that  beautiful  sermon.  So  you  may  be 
sure  he  is  his  son,  and  a  heartbreak  to  him.     I  see 


AN  ANNl  VERSAR  V.  215 

him  sometimes  now,  and  he  is  fast  sinking  into  an 
utter  reprobate.  And  oh  !  Miss  Chrissy,  I  don't  like 
that  Mr.  Ackroyd.  We  poor  outcast  wretches  know 
the  truth  of  many  a  one  that  their  better  neighbours 
think  fairly  good  and  respectable  ;  and  there's 
nothing  makes  us  feel  more  bitter  and  lost,  than  to 
see  how  some  who  are  as  bad  as  we  are,  but  better 
hypocrites,  and  maybe  richer  and  better  born,  are 
tolerated  and  accepted,  while  we  are  scouted  and 
rejected.  We  get  to  blame  Christianity  for  it ;  but 
I  own  I've  always  felt  that  if  there  is  anything 
wrhich  is  not  Jesus'  way,  it  is  just  this.' 

Perhaps  Chrissy  did  not  hear  all^Esther's  words. 
She  sat  silent  and  absorbed.  But  Esther  was  now  too 
assured  of  her  real  sympathy  to  mistrust  this  silence. 

Of  what  was  Chrissy  thinking  ? 

She  was  thinking  that  she  had  found  the  clue  to 
the  one  question  which  had  puzzled  her  and  Hans 
Krinken — how  Mr.  Ackroyd  had  acquired  informa- 
tion which  had  led  him  to  rid  himself  of  his  Great 
Metropolitan  shares.  What  more  likely  than  that, 
knowing  this  poor  prodigal  lad  in  the  confidence 
of  the  Bank,  he  had  taken  advantage  of  his  intoxi- 
cation to  worm  its  secrets  from  him  ? 

When  Chrissy  returned  to  Miss  Griffin's  apart- 
ments she  found  supper  awaiting  her,  and  also  a 
letter  from  Hans  Krinken.  It  was  not  the  first,  the 
second,  nor  the  third  which  had  arrived  since  his 
departure,  but  it  was  by  far  the  bulkiest. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


TWENTY-FIVE   POUNDS. 


EAR  MISS  CHRISTINA,'  wrote 
Hans  Krinken,  *  I  have  already  told 
you  of  our  voyage  and  our  arrival, 
and  our  journeying  onward,  drop- 
ping first  one  and  then  another 
group  of  our  party  at  their  chosen 
destinations.  I  have  told  you  in 
other  letters  about  the  country 
and  its  people  and  their  ways. 
But  this  time  I  am  going  to  write  a  letter  about 
ourselves  and  our  own  business. 

'  I  shall  begin  with  yours.  I  have  sold  every  one 
of  your  beautiful  careful  little  studies  of  English 
places.  I  have  kept  an  exact  account  of  the  money  I 
have  received  for  each,  which  you  will  find  enclosed. 
The  whole  amounts  to  the  sum  of  twenty-five  pounds. 
I  have  sold  them  in  out-of-the-way  places,  where 
few  pictures  are  ever  seen — to  homely  farmers  and 

210 


TWENTY-FIVE  POUNDS.  217 

rough  miners  and  shrewd  housewives.  And  you 
should  have  heard  the  talk  over  them,  and  seen  the 
looks  which  husbands  and  wives  and  parents  and 
children  exchanged  when  they  saw  your  representa- 
tions of  places  they  had  once  known  so  well,  and 
will  never  see  again.  And  they  whispered  together, 
and  tears  came  into  their  eyes,  and  I  think  their 
voices  were  softer,  and  I  was  treated  like  a  friend 
who  had  brought  back  a  bit  of  the  past.  And,  better 
than  this  sale,  I  have  a  great  order  for  work  of  yours. 
The  proprietor  of  a  paper  here  wishes  you  to  do  for 
him  two  pictures  in  every  month,  of  London  houses 
famous  in  fiction,  anecdote,  or  history.'  And  here 
Hans  enumerated  the  length  of  the  engagement  and 
the  terms  offered. 

And  Chrissy  jumped  up  and  danced  about  the 
room,  crying — 

'And  I  shan't  even  have  to  give  up  the  shop — the 
dear  old  shop — for  early  morning  will  be  the  quietest 
and  best  time  for  sketching,  and  a  little  of  "  early  to 
bed  and  early  to  rise  "  will  do  it  all,  and  I  can  sketch 
just  as  I  always  did,  as  if  it  was  for  pure  love,  and 
all  the  extra  money  can  go  to  paying  off  that  terrible 
Metropolitan.' 

'  And  now  I  will  go  on  to  some  affairs  of  my  own,' 
wrote  Hans,  'and  they  are  not  so  altogether  sun- 
shiny as  yours,  —  at  least  not  to  my  mind.  You 
remember  my  German  schoolfellow,  to  whom  I  wrote 


2i8  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION, 

some  time  ago,  and  who  answered  me,  after  a  long 
delay,  from  America,  and  related  that  some  stranger 
had  put  in  an  appearance  in  my  native  village,  and 
had  been  making  inquiries  about  me. 

'  Well,  during  my  travels,  I  found,  by  referring  to 
my  schoolfellow's  letter,  that  I  must  be  rather  near 
his  home,  and  so,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  and 
because  my  grandfather  had  rather  liked  the  lad,  in 
spite  of  his  wild  ways,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  pay 
him  a  visit. 

*  I  found  him  in  a  beautiful  lonely  district  in  the 
Canadian  backwoods.  He  is  married  already.  Miss 
Christina,  it  is  strange  to  see  the  first  married  among 
one's  contemporaries ;  it  reminds  one  that  one  has 
reached  the  foremost  rank  of  life !  Besides  his  wife, 
he  has  her  sister  with  him,  and  they  all  live  in  a 
little  wooden  house,  whose  timbers  he  cut  down  and 
sawed  himself.  They  have  made  the  furniture  too, 
nearly  everything.  The  little  piece  of  land  on  which 
they  live  is  entirely  their  own,  and  yields  them  all 
their  sustenance,  with  enough  over  for  exchange  for 
clothing,  and  for  little  savings.  It  seems  to  me  a 
good  way  of  life — a  safe  road  to  real  prosperity, 
with  peace  and  pleasure  all  the  way  along. 

*  Well,  my  old  friend  was  very  pleased  to  see  me. 
He  had  been  very  glad  indeed  to  hear  of  me  when  I 
wrote  to  him  from  Shield  Street,  and  had  written 
back  to  our  old  neighbourhood,  saying  that  he  had 


TWE.NTY-FIVE  POUNDS.  219 

heard  from  me,  and  that  I  was  in  London  and  domer 
well.  But  he  did  not  give  anybody  my  address, 
having  a  feeling  that  if  I  wanted  that  done,  I  ought 
to  do  it  myself. 

'  And  so,  only  two  or  three  days  before  I  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  door  of  his  shanty,  almost  making 
him  think  that  he  beheld  a  ghost,  he  had  had 
another  letter  from  Germany,  asking  definitely  for 
my  address,  as  there  was  important  news  for  me. 

'  Miss  Christina,  you  are  the  daughter  of  a  good 
man.  I  find  I  am  the  son  of  a  very  bad  one.  Your 
father  died  ruined.  My  father  has  died — as  he  was 
born — rich  and  honoured.  I  would  not  say  one  word 
against  him,  but  that  he  deceived  and  deserted  my 
mother,  and  left  her  to  die  of  a  broken  heart  while  I 
was  in  my  cradle.  My  grandparents — her  father 
and  mother — asked  nothing  from  him  for  me;  they 
asked  only  to  rear  their  daughter's  child  in  their  own 
godly  fashion.  My  poor  father  had  no  legal  claim 
on  me :  the  same  artifice  by  which  he  gave  my 
mother  no  legal  claim  on  him,  served  at  least  to  set 
me  free  from  his  authority;  but  the  terror  of  my 
grandparents'  life  was,  lest  it  should  please  him,  as  I 
grew  up,  to  assert  his  relationship  to  me,  exert  its 
natural  influence  over  me,  and  lead  me  into  paths 
which  they  knew  could  only  end  in  ruin  both  for 
this  life  and  the  next.  This  was  why  they  desired 
me  to  leave  Germany. 


220  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

It  appears  that  it  was  my  father  himself  who  came 
in  his  carriage  to  our  village,  asking  after  me.  Pro- 
bably he  came  directly  he  heard  of  my  grandparent's 
death.  I  can  well  understand  that  he  must  have 
shrank — wealthy  and  well-born  as  he  was — from 
meeting  my  poor  honest  old  grandfather,  whose 
only  daughter  he  had  cruelly  deceived  and  heartlessly 
disgraced.  I  can't  help  hoping  that  it  was  some 
feeling  of  regret  for  her  sake  which  made  him  think 
of  seeking  me  out.  It  seems  his  health  had  been 
failing  for  some  time,  though  he  died  suddenly  at 
last ;  so  perhaps  he  had  had  quietness  and  leisure 
to  think  over  the  past,  and  see  it  in  its  true  light, 
and  be  sorry  for  it.  In  those  last  days  he  made  a 
will,  and  though,  of  course,  his  estates  and  revenues 
go  to  those  to  whom  they  justly  belong — to  those 
who  bear  his  name — he  has  yet  remembered  me. 

'  For  his  own  sake,  I  am  glad  he  did  so. 

'  Of  course  I  shall  never  touch  a  farthing  of  his 
money.  To  me,  it  is  tainted  with  the  blood  of  my 
mother's  broken  heart.  My  old  schoolfellow  here 
thinks  me  Quixotic  in  this,  but  my  mind  is  made 
up.  I  am  sure  even  you  could  not  change  it.  I 
believe  I  am  sure  of  this,  because  I  am  certain  you 
will  never  try. 

*  I  have  written  to  Germany,  and  as  soon  as  my 
first  sojourn  here  is  over,  and  I  return  to  England, 
I  shall  go  on  to  the  Continent   and  get  this  little 


TWENTY-FIVE  POUNDS.  221 

matter  settled,  and  pay  a  farewell  visit  to  the  graves 
of  my  mother  and  my  grandparents. 

'  My  old  schoolfellow  fancies  I  am  making  a  great 
sacrifice.  But  really  I  don't  feel  it  to  be  so.  I  am 
enamoured  of  the  thought  of  hammering  out  my 
own  fortune  from  the  rock  of  circumstance.  One 
does  not  want  much  for  true  happiness.  One  wants 
only  clean  hands  and  a  brave  heart  and  a  bright 
hope ;  and  these  one  must  have,  and  it  is  the  worst 
of  follies  to  risk  any  of  these  for  something  else 
which  can  never  supply  its  place. 

*  Perhaps  it  is  easier  for  me  to  think  thus  because 
I  feel  sure  you  will  agree  with  me.' 

And  then  the  letter  closed  with  a  few  inquiries 
after  '  Miss  Helen,'  and  some  affectionate  messages 
for  '  Miss  Griffin.' 

Chrissy  dropped  the  letter  on  her  knee,  and  sat 
thoughtful.  What  a  strange  world  it  was !  How 
singular  it  was  that  this  new  possibility  of  her  pay- 
ment of  her  father's  innocent  liabilities,  and  setting 
his  name  free  from  casting  any  shadow  over  other 
lives,  had  come  to  her  by  the  hand  of  the  worse 
than  fatherless  youth,  whom  her  father  had  clothed 
and  sheltered,  and  started  in  prosperous  ways  !  And 
how  strange  it  was  that  her  father,  who  had  given 
her  everything  else — love  and  joy,  sweet  memories 
and  inspiring  hopes — had  left  her,  for  her  portion  in 
this  world,  a  burden  to  lift  and  carry  for  his  sake ; 


2  22  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

while  Hans  Krinken's  father,  who  had  given  his 
boy  nothing — who  had,  indeed,  given  him  all  that 
was  evil,  if  that  evil  had  not  been  wrought  into  good 
by  other  hands — had  yet  endowed  him  with  a  share, 
be  it  small  or  great,  of  this  world's  wealth !  At 
first  there  was  a  little  bitterness  in  the  thought ;  but 
that  was  soon  past,  for  Chrissy  could  not  hesitate 
for  a  moment  which  lot  was  to  be  chosen.  Nay, 
she  could  rejoice  with  Hans  that  his  poor  father  had 
given  this  one  possible  sign  of  some  remembrance 
and  regret ;  though  she  could  fully  sympathise  with 
the  son's  feeling,  that  he  must  not  soften  the  condi- 
tions of  his  own  life  by  accepting  a  gift  from  one 
who  had  embittered  his  mother's  existence,  and 
driven  her  into  an  early  grave.  And  Hans  himself 
needed  no  pity.  Chrissy  would  not  have  liked  to  have 
to  pity  Hans.  We  may  pity  those  whose  losses  and 
trials  have  made  them  less  than  they  might  have 
been ;  we  may  rather  envy  those  whose  losses  and 
trials  have  only  raised  them  higher.  In  heaven  we 
shall  not  pity  those  who  wear  the  martyr's  crown  ; 
we  shall  keep  our  pity  for  those  who  builded  the 
martyr's  pile.  Hans  had  never  known  a  father,  but 
the  very  lack  of  the  earthly  type  seemed  but  to 
have  taught  him  the  directness  of  his  relation  with 
the  Father-God.  If  we  weighed  the  realjties  of  loss 
and  gain,  we  might  mete  out  the  indignity  of  pity 
in  far  different  quarters;  and  if  we  sometimes  said 


224 


TWENTY-FIVE  POUNDS.  225 

'poor  millionaire,'  'poor  spoilt  child,'  'poor  glutton,' 
instead  of  '  poor  struggler,'  '  poor  orphan,'  or  '  poor 
invalid,'  we  might  set  up  a  more  wholesome  state  of 
feeling  among  those  who  profess  to  believe  that  this 
life  is  only  the  beginning  of  life. 

Something  of  all  this  floated  through  Chrissy's 
mind  that  night  as  she  lay  sleepless  in  her  little  bed. 
For  though  pain  and  sorrow  are  often  slumbrous, 
a  rapid  current  of  new  ideas  and  fresh  images 
bears  sleep  away.  Chri.ssy  could  not  rest  until  her 
mind  settled  on  one  certain  duty,  to  be  instantly 
discharged.  To-morrow  she  must  take  her  newly 
acquired  twenty-five  pounds  to  the  office  of  the 
trustees  of  the  Great  Metropolitan  Bank.  Only 
how  little  it  seemed  now !  and  yet  yesterday,  as 
she  had  walked  home,  forlornly,  from  that  dreary 
cemetery,  it  would  have  seemed  so  much  as  to  be 
incredible.  It  was  true,  it  did  not  much  reduce  the 
deficiency  left  by  her  father's '  estate ;  but  when  we 
have  set  our  shoulders  to  push  forward  some  heavy 
weight,  the  first  sign  of  movement  thrills  us  with  an 
ecstasy  of  hope  and  joy,  which  can  scarcely  be 
matched  on  that  day  of  triumph  when  the  burden  is 
finally  shifted  to  its  place  and  left  at  rest  for  ever. 

Chrissy  and  her  errand  were  somewhat  pheno- 
menal in  the  dry  business  office  where  she  presented 
herself  with  her  twenty-five  pounds.  There  was 
some    little  difficulty    as    to    what   ledger   should 


226  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

be  brought  into  requisition,  or  what  form  of  receipt 
employed. 

'Was  the  sum  something  further  reahsed  from 
Mr,  Miller's  estate  ? '  asked  an  incredulous  clerk, 
half  wondering  whether  he  might  not  hint  to  the 
pretty  girl  that  if  she  kept  the  matter  quiet,  nobody 
was  likely  to  trouble  her  about  it. 

'  No,'  Chrissy  said. 

*  From  whom  did  it  come,  then  } ' 

'  From  Mr.  Miller's  daughter,  Christina  Miller,'  she 
answered  simply. 

She  did  not  even  add,  *  That  is  me.' 

The  clerks  whispered  together,  and  went  to  an 
inner  office  and  fetched  out  a  superior.  He  looked 
sharply  at  Chrissy,  and  by  a  few  well-aimed  questions 
elicited  the  fact  of  the  case,  on  which  he  made  no 
comment,  only  wrote  out  a  receipt,  and  walked 
across  the  office  before  her  and  let  her  out  himself 

*  What  a  strange  world  it  would  be  if  everybody 
did  business  in  that  way  ! '  he  mused  as  he  returned 
to  his  sanctum.  '  But  I  think  it  would  be  a  better 
world.  I  even  think  we  should  all  be  richer  in  the 
long  run.' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE    TWO    SISTERS. 


STHER  GRAY  remained  firm  to 
her  purpose.  It  puzzled  Miss 
Griffin  somewhat.  That  good 
woman's  calm  innocent  con- 
sciousness could  scarcely  fathom 
the  troubled  waters  which  seethe 
about  a  never -to -be  forgotten 
history  of  sin  and  crime.  Why 
could  not  Esther  Gray  find  con- 
solation in  helping  her  with  her  work  in  the  oflfices? 
Esther  had  proved  herself  steady  and  reliable,  'and 
Esther  might  not  realise  the  trouble  which  unsteady 
and  unreliable  workers  sometimes  give,'  said  Miss 
Grifiin,  almost  reproachfully. 

'  Oh,  I  am  not  ungrateful,  ma'am,*  said  Esther ; 
'  but  there's  better  people  than  me  fit  for  your  work. 
There's  a  dock -labourer's  widow  I  know  of,  a  nice 
decent  young  woman,  with  two  little  children.     She 

227 


2  28  EQUAL  TO   THE  OCCASION. 

can't  be  a  nurse  in  the  small-pox  hospital,  ma'am, 
and  I  can.  And  that  will  leave  my  place  for  her.' 
And  Esther  had  her  way.  And  when  Miss  Griffin 
found  how  pleasant  it  was  to  see  the  little  widow 
brighten  under  the  same  kind  words  and  services 
which  had  seemed  but  to  gall  and  torture  Esther's 
sore  soul,  then  she  began  to  think  that  Esther  and 
Chrissy  had  been  right. 

Hans'  return  to  England  was  delayed  much  longer 
than  had  at  first  seemed  likely.  Yet  those  were 
happy  days  for  both  him  and  Chrissy.  Labour  in 
the  hands  and  love  in  the  heart  make  about  the 
best  which  life  has  to  give.  And  Chrissy  was  indeed 
very  busy.  All  that  autumn  she  rose  with  the 
dawn,  that  she  might  get  far  ahead  with  her  sketch- 
ing work  before  the  tardy  light  and  hastening  gloom 
of  winter  should  make  it  impossible,  except  during 
those  hours  which  she  intended  to  keep  for  Mr. 
Bisset's  service.  She  must  adhere  to  her  mechanical 
labour  at  counter  and  desk  to  secure  her  own  honest 
maintenance  ;  her  talent — her  bright  little  genius, 
if  she  had  any — should  toil  for  pure  love  in  the 
service  of  her  dead  father. 

In  those  sweet  silver-grey  mornings,  when  she 
trotted  forth  with  camp-stool  and  portfolio,  the  sky 
above  her  clear  from  smoke,  the  pavement  beneath 
clean  and  white,  all  sounds  hushed  except  the 
hastening  steps  of  some  early  workman,   and    the 


THE  TWO  SISTERS.  229 

twitter  of  the  awakening  sparrows,  did  it  ever  cross 
Chrissy's  mind  that,  but  for  human  fraud — but  for  a 
neighbour's  treachery — her  toil  might  have  been  still 
for  pure  love,  but  for  love  living  in  joy  and  hope, 
for  love  in  the  present,  love  in  the  future  ? 

It  did.  Once  or  twice,  she  even  wondered  to  her- 
self how  a  girl  might  feel  whose  labour  was  to  help 
to  rear  a  new  home — to  plenish  a  household  nest. 
But  a  voice  within  her  answered  that  God's  days  are 
long,  that  He  has  His  own  appointed  times  and 
ways,  and  that  He  will  not  mock  His  children  who 
trust  in  Him.  One  thing  remained  clear.  Without 
dojng  the  right  there  could  be  no  blessedness ;  the 
best  blessedness  was  in  the  vejy  doing  of  the  right ; 
and  the  Almighty  Power  who  makes  so  clear  the 
way  to  the  best  blessedness,  wiU^  not  readily  grudge 
us  aught  else  that  is  good  for  us. 

Yes,  in  those  days  Chrissy  was  happy,  except  that 
there  was  somebody  who  did  not  seem  so,  even  her 
sister  Helen.  Helen  came  oftener  to  visit  Miss 
Griffin's  home,  but  she  never  seemed  to  take  any 
happy  interest  in  anything  she  found  going  on 
there.  When  she  heard  of  Chrissy's  drawings,  she 
only  wondered  why  Chrissy  need  burden  herself 
with  so  much  work.  '  There  was  no  good  in  money- 
making  of  that  kind,'  she  said,  *  there  was  so  little  to 
show  after  years  of  it — ^just  a  few  hundreds  of  pounds 
at  most — and  one's  youth  and  good  looks  worn  out 


230  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

into  the  bargain.'  Chrissy  scarcely  liked  to  tell  her 
sister  to  what  object  she  was  devoting  all  her  extra 
earnings,  past  and  future.  To  her  delicate  conscious- 
ness, to  state  her  sole  undertaking  of  such  filial  task 
seemed  like  conveying  a  reproach  to  Helen.  But  it 
had  to  be  told,  sooner  or  later.  And  Chrissy  need 
not  have  shrunk  from  the  telling.  Helen  regarded 
her  sister's  ambition  only  as  the  fond  whim  of  a 
harmless  kind  of  lunatic.  'Nobody  expected  such 
Quixotic  honesty,  even  from  men,'  she  said.  'And 
from  women,  it  was  absolutely  absurd.  Why, 
marriage  settlements  were  an  invention  to  save 
women  from  being  compelled  to  share  the  losses 
and  misfortunes  of  even  their  husbands.' 

'But  because  law  furnishes  possible  protection 
against  those  who  may  have  become  our  enemies, 
and  from  whom  our  only  wish  might  be  to  detach 
ourselves,  we  are  not  compelled  to  use  its  protection 
against  our  friends — against  those  with  whom  our 
one  ardent  desire  is  to  be  united  for  ever,'  said 
Chrissy. 

'Oh,  well,'  said  Helen,  'each  can  do  as  each  likes, 
but  women  have  quite  enough  to  do  for  themselves, 
and  can  scarcely  provide  for  their  own  old  age, 
except  by  scrimping  themselves  all  their  lives,  of 
all  that  makes  life  worth  having.' 

'  Is  that  the  duties  of  love  and  honour,  or  a  few 
silk  dresses.'''  asked  Chrissy,  a  little  mischievously. 


THE  TWO  SISTERS.  231 

But  she  looked  up  at  Helen's  face  as  she  spoke, 

and  its  expression  checked  her.     It  was  not  sad — 

^tt  was  scarcely  what  one  would  call  suffering — it 

'  was  rather  the  face  of  one  weary,  defeated  ;  above 

/all,  embittered.    There  comes  a  thrill  of  self-reproach 

to  loyal  hearts  like  Chrissy's  when  first  they  realize 

that  sense  of  separation  which  separate  duties  and 

separate  aims  are   sure   to   bring,  sooner  or  later, 

to  those   born  beside  one  hearth.      How  had  she 

and  Helen  got  so  far  apart,  that  she  could  not  even 

guess  whence  fell  the  shadow  which  darkened  her 

sister's  face  "i 

She  had  a  vague  intuition.  Standing  sideways  at 
her  little  toilet-table,  so  that  she  could  not  watch 
Helen's  face,  and  allow  her  sister  to  betray  herself 
by  any  unguarded  expression,  she  asked, — • 

'  Do  you  see  the  Ackroyds  often  now  ?  * 

'  No,'  said  Helen  sharply. 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  Helen  asked, — 

'  Do  you  see  much  of  them  in  Shield  Street? ' 

*  Very  little  indeed,'  answered  Chrissy.  '  I  have 
an  impression  that  both  James  and  Sophia  have 
been  visiting  from  home  a  great  d^al.' 

'  Oh,  yes,'  said  Helen,  with  a  rasping  torture-tone 
in  her  voice ;  '  Sophia  told  me  they  were  going 
away,  the  last  time  she  saw  me.  They  go  to  stay 
with  the  people  who  have  taken  James  into  the 
stockbroking  firm.      As  soon  as   he  is   competent 


232  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

to  be  a  partner,  he  is  to  marry  the  daughter  of  the 
house.' 

So  this  was  the  end  of  Helen's  advice  to  the 
youth  as  to  the  line  of  life  he  should  choose  !  Chrissy 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  It  was  not  the  time  for 
moralizing,  and  there  was  no  appeal  for  sympathy. 
Chrissy  said  nothing. 

*  They  say  she  is  very  ugly,'  observed  Helen, 
with  an  unhappy  laugh  ;  'and  I  suppose  it  is  true, 
since  Sophia  admitted  that  she  was  not  pretty,  but 
was  rather  distinguished-looking,  and,  though  very 
reserved,  was  truly  charming  to  the  few  people  who 
ever  really  got  to  know  her.  Poor  James !  I  don't 
blame  him ;  only  it  does  seem  hard  that  beauty  and 
loveliness  and  one's  own  inclination  should  be  so 
seldom  on  the  side  of  fortune.' 

'  I  do  blame  James,  if  he  is  to  marry  without 
love,'  said  Chrissy ;  '  and  I  pity  the  poor  girl  if 
she  is  deceived  into  believing  herself  beloved.' 

*  Probably  she  herself  is  agreeable  enough  to  the 
match,'  returned  Helen,  'and  so  needs  no  pity. 
Everybody  does  not  see  things  with  your  eyes, 
Chrissy.  See  what  a  different  standpoint  Aunt 
Kezia  takes  ;  and  I  believe  there  are  more  people 
in  the  world  like  her  than  like  you.  I  think  Aunt 
Kezia  has  made  her  will  lately,  Chrissy,'  she  added, 
after  a  pause. 

*  Has  she  ? '  said  Chrissy  calmly. 


THE  TWO  SISTERS.  233 

'  And  I  don't  believe  she  has  put  down  your 
name,'  Helen  went  on.  *  She  said  to  me  there 
would  be  no  comfort  in  leaving  Chrissy  anything ; 
it  would  be  sure  to  go  on  some  queer  idea.  And 
besides,  she  had  heard  of  the  pictures  you  had  sold 
and  were  to  sell,  and  she  said,  "  Chrissy  will  be  able 
to  get  for  herself  as  much  as  is  good  for  her." ' 

*  I  hope  it  is  true,'  said  Chrissy  quietly. 

'My  name  is  down,  I  know,'  Helen  went  on  ;  'but 
I  do  not  know  for  how  much — or  even  for  what.  I 
hope  it  is  not  for  her  cumbrous  old  furniture,  which 
she  thinks  so  much  of,  and  values  at  three  times 
what  it  would  really  fetch.  And  I'm  sure  if  it 
came  to  me  I  should  sell  it  off  at  once,  for  I  couldn't 
bear  the  sight  of  the  old  things.  I  wish  I  did  know 
what  Aunt  Kezzy  means  to  give  me — the  expectation 
of  it  might  make  more  difference  to  me  now  than 
the  possession  of  it  when  I  am  an  old  woman.  She 
may  live  for  years  and  years  yet — till  I'm  too  old 
to  get  married,  and  when  I  might  be  shelved  as 
comfortably  in  a  workhouse  almost  as  Aunt  Kezzy 
herself  is  now  in  her  own  establishment.' 

Chrissy  could  bear  it  no  longer.  -Was  this  Helen  ? 
— sister  Helen,  whose  old  faults  of  thoughtlessness 
and  carelessness  had  seemed  to  have  a  wild  beauty 
of  their  own  ?  Sister  Helen,  who  had  always  been 
so  lavish  of  her  kisses  and  soft  words  and  gifts — 
whose  chronic  difficulty  had  been  that  her  pocket- 


234  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

money  would  burn  a  hole  in  her  pocket  ?  Chrissy 
had  not  had  a  long  experience  of  life,  or  she  would 
have  known  that  thoughtlessness  and  carelessness, 
thriftlessness  and  extravagance,  are  the  very  blossoms 
which  presently  develop  into  selfishness  and  sordid- 
ness  and  greed,  whether  such  development  takes 
place  slowly  under  the  influence  of  advancing  years, 
or  swiftly  under  the  pressure  of  the  stresses  and 
storms  of  life. 

'  Helen,'  she  cried,  *  I  cannot  hear  you  talking 
thus !  What  are  you  living  for  ?  Are  not  the 
service  of  our  God  and  the  love  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  before  these  things  ?  We  do  not  live  by 
bread  alone,  Nellie.  I  think  the  text  might  come 
more  home  to  us  if  we  took  out  the  simple  symbolic 
word  "  bread,"  and  put  in  literally  some  of  the  things 
we  make  too  much  of  We  do  not  really  live  by 
dainty  raiment,  or  grand  rooms,  or  legacies,  or  pro- 
visions for  our  old  age,  but  by  every  word  of  God  ; 
that  is,  by  every  true  thought  and  every  generous 
deed  which  urges  ourselves  and  helps  others  towards 
Him.  We  have  souls  as  well  as  bodies,  Nellie,  and 
there  is  generally  no  need  that  either  shall  be  starved 
for  the  sake  of  the  other ;  but  if  one  or  the  other 
must  suffer,  let  it  be  the  temporal,  and  not  the 
eternal — that  which  is  sure  to  die,  not  that  which 
must  live  for  ever.' 

Chrissy   caught   her   sister's    hands,   and    looked 


THE  TWO  SISTERS.  235 

yearningly  into  the  familiar  face.  There  were 
already  one  or  two  lines  which  had  not  been  there 
in  the  old  days — lines  which  brought  out  something 
which  had  not  been  visible  before.  Yes,  Helen  was 
going  to  be  like  Aunt  Keziah  Daffy ! 

Helen  looked  down  into  Chrissy's  face,  for  she  was 
much  the  taller  of  the  two,  and  her  lips  parted  with 
a  smile  which  did  not  mount  to  her  eyes.  Chrissy's 
heart  sank  within  her,  for  she  knew  what  was 
coming,  and  she  would  have  infinitely  preferred  if 
her  sister  had  argued  against  her  arguments,  or  even 
been  angry  with  her  for  urging  them,  or  had  said  or 
done  anything  except  meeting  her,  as  she  did,  with 
the  sweet  soothing  indifference  of  one  astonished  and 
amused  to  see  energy  thrown  away  for  inadequate 
reasons  ;  such  a  manner  as  mothers  or  nurses  might 
use  to  tumultuous  children  or  deluded  invalids. 

'  People  see  things  differently,  Chrissy,'  she  said, 
'  and  I  daresay  you  would  be  as  glad  as  anybody  to 
be  comfortably  off,  if  you  could  see  your  way  to  it. 
I  am  sorry  to  have  to  fancy  that  you  rather  grudge 
me  Aunt  Keziah's  possible  bequest.  Console  your- 
self ;  it  is  far  off,  and  uncertain  into  the  bargain.' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A    LOAN   AND  A   LEGACY. 


ANS  KRINKEN'S  absence  was 
prolonged  far  beyond  expecta- 
tion ;  more  than  two  years  passed 
before  he  came  back.  If  he  and 
Chrissy  had  known  how  long  it 
would  last  when  they  parted  from 
each  other  on  the  crowded  dock 
it  might  have  seemed  too  hard 
to  bear,  and  courage  and  faith 
might  have  failed  them. 

It  did  seem  very  hard,  often  ;  but  all  the  sicken- 
ing hope-deferred,  all  the  fears,  and  all  the  pain, 
only  made  their  joy  the  greater  on  that  evening 
when  a  strong  manly  step  was  heard  hastily 
mounting  Miss  Griffin's  staircase,  and  she  dropped 
her  work,  and  Chrissy  suspended  her  pencil  for  just 
one  moment  till  the  door  opened,  and  Chrissy 
sprang  up  with  the  cry — 


23T 


238  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'It  is  Hans!' 

'  Chrissy  ! ' 

They  were  Hans  and  Chrissy  ever  after.  They 
had  lost  nothing  in  that  long  parting ;  they  had 
been  growing  nearer  all  the  while.  There  came  a 
time  when  they  talked  it  over  together. 

'  Everybody  says  I  am  so  changed,'  said  Hans. 

'  You  are  not  changed  one  whit/  said  Chrissy  ; 
'  you  have  only  gone  on  into  more  of  all  you  used 
to  be.  I  expect  that  is  how  we  shall  feel  when  we 
meet  those  whom  God  has  called  home  before  us. 
I  have  often  felt  that  I  have  grown  to  know  my  | 
father  better  since  he  went  away.' 

*Ah!  you  loved  each  other  so,'  said  Hans  ;  'and 
love  is  but  the  prisoner  of  these  mortal  bodies  ;  and 
on  your  father's  side,  you  see,  the  prison-house  is 
already  broken  down.  Love  is  beyond  time  and 
space.  But  me  !  I  believe  you  like  me  ;  but  liking 
is  not  love.  And  can  love  on  one  side  only^  still 
conquer  time  and  space,  Chrissy?  I  shall  have  to 
call  you  "Miss  Chrissy"  again,  I  suppose.' 

'  You  can't  be  quite  sure  it  is  only  on  one  side, 
Hans,'  whispered  Chrissy, 

Never  mind  what  he  said  next,  or  what  she 
answered  him,  or  what  he  said  in  reply.  Only, 
when  the  little  dialogue  was  over,  the  two  were 
seated  hand  in  hand,  and  there  were  roses  and  dew 
on  Chrissy's  face. 


A  LOAN  AND  A  LEGACY.  239 

But  all  of  a  sudden  the  fingers  lying  in  Hans' 
hand  tightened  their  clasp,  and  the  girlish  face  grew 
still  and  strong.  A  little  pain  was  on  it  too.  How 
had  she  let  herself  forget,  even  for  a  moment  ?  If 
she  had  been  loyal  to  her  duty,  then  she  would  not 
have  touched  this  treasure  of  love  and  happiness, 
and  so  would  not  have  needed  to  lay  it  down  again. 
And  O  how  hard  this  was  to  do  when  one  had 
caught  such  a  glimpse  of  what  might  have  been  ! 

'  Hans,'  she  said  hastily,  *  this  will  not  do.  Don't 
you  remember  all  I  wrote  you  about  my  father's 
debt  to  the  Metropolitan  Bank,  and  how  I  was  pay- 
ing the  bank  all  I  get  for  my  drawings.  It  will 
take  me  all  my  life  to  do  that  task.  And  I  must 
do  it,  Hans.' 

*  I  know  you  must,'  said  Hans.  '  I'm  not  sure 
I'd  have  found  out  that  "  must  "  for  you.  It  makes 
me  feel  like  a  savage  when  I  think  of  it,  while  I 
know  other  people  are  securing  themselves  every 
comfort  by  all  sorts  of  assignments  and  settlements 
and  valuations,  and  then  paying  compositions  of 
half-a-crown  in  the  pound,  and  getting  so  much 
help  and  pity  for  their  "  misfortunes  "  that  they  are 
as  good  as  a  fortune !  But  then,  they  are  they, 
and  you  are  y£u,  and  that  is  all  the  difference. 
And  I  like  you,  and  I'd  rather  stand  on  your  side 
of  the  matter.  Whatever  you  mean  to  do,  I  mean 
to  help  in,  Chrissy.' 


240  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  Oh,  Hans  ! '  she  cried,  '  I  could  not  weight  your 
life  with  this  burden  to  begin  with.  It  is  my 
father's  burden,  and  I  have  no  right  to  impose  it ' — 

'  Hush,  dearest,'  said  Hans,  '  or  I  shall  think  this 
is  a  hint  that  I  have  no  right  to  ask  your  saintly 
father's  daughter  to  share  the  lot  of  my  unhappy 
father's  nameless  son.  If  you  won't  let  me  share 
your  father,  Chrissy,  I  shall  really  have  had  no  father. 
My  father  gave  me  physical  life,  which,  but  for  the 
care  of  others,  must  have  grown  into  a  curse  and 
misery  to  myself  and  the  world.  Your  father  took 
me  in,  a  stranger,  and  cared  for  me,  and  spoke  good 
words  to  me,  and  started  me  in  the  ways  of  honour- 
able life.' 

'  You  would  have  found  them  somehow  for  your- 
self,' pleaded  Chrissy.  '  My  father  said  so  :  he  told 
me  so.' 

'  Then  God  bless  him  for  the  prophecy  ! '  returned 
Hans.  *  God  bless  all  good  souls  who  make  happy 
prophecies,  and  then  work  for  their  fulfilment ! ' 

A  glad  smile  was  certainly  lighting  up  behind 
Chrissy's  tears,  but  still  she  whispered — 

*  A  charge  like  this  at  the  beginning  of  your  life 
will  weigh  you  down  and  keep  you  down,  and  I  shall 
have  to  see  you  careworn  and  weary,  and  to  know 
it  is  all  through  me.' 

'  Chrissy,'  said  Hans,  with  manly  calmness,  *  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I  want  you  to 


A  LOAN  AND  A  LEGACY.  241 

hear  me  out  altogether,  before  you  raise  any  objec- 
tion to  what  I  say.     Will  you  promise  ? ' 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  gentle  assent.  There 
was  such  re-assurance  in  the  knowledge  that  under 
this  burden  of  hers  he  would  at  least  stand  beside 
her,  whether  she  would  let  him  share  its  load  or  no. 

'  You  were  told  by  me  that  my  poor  father  had 
left  me  a  legacy,'  said  Hans  ;  '  and  I  added  that 
after  all  that  had  happened  to  my  mother,  I  could 
not  take  his  money  to  soften  or  sweeten  my  own  life. 
And  you  believed  me  so  implicitly,  my  Chrissy,  that 
you  never  even  asked  what  that  legacy  was,  feeling 
that  it  signified  nothing  more  to  you  or  me.' 

'  I  thought  there  might  be  pain  for  you  in  the  very 
mention  of  it,'  whispered  Chrissy. 

'  I  think  I  told  you  that  when  I  should  come  back 
to  Europe  I  should  go  over  to  Germany  and  make 
arrangements  about  it,'  Hans  went  on.  *  Well,  when 
I  found  that  my  return  was  so  long  delayed,  I 
opened  a  correspondence  with  my  father's  lawful 
heir — his  nephew.  I  found  him  to  be  an  excellent 
man,  who  fully  entered  into  my  feelings  on  my  own 
side,  but  on  his  side  was  equally  determined  that 
the  money  should  not  return  to  his  coffers.  He 
wrote  me  that  my  father  had  spoken  with  much 
remorse  concerning  my  poor  deceived  mother,  and 
with  much  regret  concerning  myself,  and  that  my 
rejection  of  the  little  gift  by  which  he  had  striven  to 


242  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

express  his  repentance,  might  seem  like  the  rejection 
of  his  repentance  itself.  "  The  money  is  yours,"  he 
wrote, — "yours  to  do  with  as  you  will.  I  can  under- 
stand your  shrinking  from  devoting  it  to  selfish 
purposes ;  "but  is  there  no  good  work  you  would  like 
to  forward,  no  wrong  you  would  like  to  mitigate  ? 
If  there  is  none  such  within  your  ken  at  present, 
keep  this  money  until  the  time  comes.  To  let  your 
poor  father's  gifts  aid  you  in  making  the  rough 
smooth,  or  the  crooked  straight,  will  be  the  noblest 
form  of  retributive  justice — a  sweet  vengeance  of 
forgiveness,  in  which  your  mother  in  heaven,  herself, 
will  be  able  to  join."  Chrissy,  I  saw  there  was 
wisdom  in  his  words.  I  shall  set  my  father's  legacy 
to  pay  your  father's  debt.  It  shall  be  my  father's 
thankoffering  to  those  who  befriended  his  child.' 

'  Oh,  Hans  ! '  cried  Chrissy,  springing  up  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  ecstasy  of  delight.  *  Oh,  Hans  !  all 
my  life  I  shall  never  have  ended  my  thanks  to  you  ! ' 

'  A  great  deal  of  thanks  for  a  very  small  matter, 
little  lady,'  smiled  Hans. 

*  Only  I  should  have  liked  to  have  paid  that  debt 
myself — almost,'  said  Chrissy  wistfully,  and  yet 
aware  that  possibly  a  little  subtle  selfishness  lurked 
in  the  wish. 

'Perhaps  you  will  have  had  more  to  do  with  the  payT 
ing  of  it  than  you  think  just  now,'  answered  Hans 
'  My  father's  legacy  is  only  five  hundred  pounds.' 


A  LOAN  AND  A  LEGACY.  243 

Chrissy  stood  still,  serious.  But  the  sunshine  did 
not  fade  from  her  face.  It  was  more  than  money 
which  had  been  devoted  to  her  father's  service. 

*  But  that  is  a  great  deal ! '  she  said.  '  Father's 
estate  left  fifteen  hundred  owing  to  the  Bank — I 
have  paid  off  about  ninety — this  money  of  yours 
will  bring  it  up  to  nearly  six  hundred — there  will 
remain  only  nine  hundred.  Oh,  Hans !  if  I  could 
have  only  imagined  this — a  year  ago  ! ' 

'But  gently,gently,'said  Hans.  '  Has  it  ever  occurred 
to  you  that  if  sickness,  or  misfortune,  or  death  occurred 
to  you  (and  to  me  also,  now  that  we  are  to  be  one), 
then  this  debt  must  remain  for  ever  unpaid  ? ' 

'  Oh,  Hans  !'  she  cried.  *  You  ask  if  this  has  ever 
occurred  to  me !  Why,  I  have  had  to  try  to  forget 
it,  lest  it  should  bring  on  the  evils  I  feared.  But  we 
can  but  do  our  best,  and,  if  God's  will  crosses  that, 
then  I  think  He  takes  ouj-  duties  upon  Himself.' 

'  True,  my  darling,*  answered  Hans ;  '  but  suppose 
we  had  it  in  our  power  to  secure  that  the  whole  of 
this  money  shall  be  certainly  paid — not  very  soon, 
perhaps,  but  certainly  paid,  whether  we  prospered  or 
not.  Would  you  not  think  it  was  a  wise  and  right 
course  which  could  insure  that  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  should,'  said  Chrissy,  with  attentive 
eyes  ;  '  but  how  could  that  be  done  ? ' 

*  Listen,'  returned  Hans.  And  then  he  expounded 
to  her  the  mysteries  of  life  insurance,  and  how,  by 


244  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

the  immediate  payment  of  some  such  sum  as  his 
father's  legacy,  they  could  secure  that  the  whole  of 
Mr.  Miller's  debt  to  the  Metropolitan  Bank  should 
be  paid  at  a  certain  given  date,  or  on  the  occasion  of 
Chrissy's  death,  should  that  happen  before  such  date. 

'And  you  will  have  had  a  greater  share  in  paying 
your  father's  debt  than  may  seem  to  you  just  now,' 
Hans  went  on,  '  for  I  should  never  have  known  how 
this  could  be  done  but  for  something  you  did.  You 
remember  the  ten  pounds  you  lent  me  when  I  first 
went  into  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  service  ? ' 

And  then  he  told  her  the  story  of  how  that  gentle- 
man had  overcome  his  scruples  about  taking  the  loan 
by  showing  him  how  he  could  protect  its  lender  from 
loss.  And  he  showed  the  deed  of  assignment  and 
the  pathetic  little  will,  both  of  which  he  had  that 
morning  taken  into  his  own  possession  out  of  the 
custody  of  Dr.  Julius. 

'  I  shall  never  return  you  that  ten  pounds  now,' 
he  said,  sagely  shaking  his  head. 

'  That  ten  pounds  ! '  cried  Chrissy.  *  How  absurd  to 
mention  them  when  you  have  given  me  five  hundred!' 

'  I  have  given  you  myself  and  all  that  I  have  or 
shall  have,'  said  Hans  playfully.  '  I  hope  you  will 
not  find  you  have  made  a  bad  investment' 

Let  us  leave  them.  There  are  moments  on  which 
even  that  dear  friend  '  the  courteous  reader '  should 
not  intrude. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


WHERE  THE   SERMON   ENDED. 


T  was  soon  decided  that  Hans  must 
presently  return  to  America,  to 
take  charge  of  a  branch  establish- 
ment which  Mr.  Bilderdyk  was 
about  to  start  in  one  of  the  new 
western  cities.  The  worthy  mer- 
chant, who  had  not  forgotten  the 
pretty  wistful  face  of  her  whom 
he  had  set  down  in  his  mind  as 
'  Miss  Miller's  young  friend,'  began  to  throw  out  hints 
to  his  proteg^  that  a  young  man  in  a  new  country 
was  the  better  for  a  settled  home,  and  that  the 
salary  Hans  was  to  receive,  though  modest,  was 
sufficient,  and  would  be  always  on  the  increase. 

So,  when  Hans  blushingly  announced  that  *  Miss 
Miller'  had  promised  to  take  upon  herself  the  part 
of  helpmeet  in  the  new  Eden  of  the  West,  the  old 
gentleman  exclaimed,  in  dismay — 


Miss  Miller ! 


But  isn't  she  quite  an  elderly  lady  .-* 

245 


246  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Did  I  not  see  her  saying  good-bye  to  you  when  you 
left  England  two  years  ago  ?' 

'An  elderly  lady?'  said  Hans,  forgetful  of  Mr. 
Bilderdyk's  former  blundering,  and  so  for  one 
moment  puzzled.  *An  elderly  lady?  Oh,  I  see. 
That,  sir,  was  our  dear  friend.  Miss  Griffin.  The 
young  lady  with  her  was  Miss  Miller.' 

*  O — oh  ! '  was  Mr.  Bilderdyk's  prolonged  excla- 
mation. *  So  it  was  the  young  lady  who  lent  you 
the  money.     Indeed  !     Were  you  engaged  then  ? ' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Hans  proudly.  '  No,  sir,  I  had  to 
become  in  some  way  worthy  of  her  before  that 
could  happen.     She  helped  me  for  her  father's  sake.' 

'  Well,  her  little  dowry  will  do  you  no  harm,'  said 
Mr.  Bilderdyk.  *  I  remember  you  said  she  had  not 
much.  I  don't  like  mercenariness,  but  prudence  is 
an  excellent  quality.' 

'She  has  no  dowry  but  herself,'  returned  Hans, 
prouder  still.  *  When  she  lent  me  that  ten  pounds, 
it  was  almost  all  she  had  in  the  world.'  He  said 
it  as  a  man  might  announce  that  he  had  received 
knighthood. 

'Well,  well,'  said  Mr.  Bilderdyk,  *it  has  turned 
out  fortunately  as  yet,  I  will  say.  I  do  believe 
there  is  something  beyond  prudence  sometimes.' 
And  he  cast  a  thought  back  over  certain  incidents 
in  his  own  life,  and  wondered  whether  he  might  not 
have   dared   where   he   had   hesitated.     And    there 


WHERE  THE  SERMON  EJSDED.         247 

came  something  very  like  a  sigh.  *  It  is  so  hard/ 
that  one  sees  things  when  it  is  too  late  ! '  As  if  it ' 
were  ever  too  late!  Young  people  talk  about  'too' 
late  ! '  much  oftener  than  older  folk  do,  and  possibly  ^ 
old  folk  say  it  much  oftener  than  do  the  angels,  and' 
none  of  us  all  need  believe  it  till  we  hear  God  say  it.  ^ 

Of  course,  there  was  some  pain  in  the  young 
people's  preparation  for  their  wedding  and  their 
going  away.  There  always  is.  There  was  the 
parting  from  Helen,  and  from  Miss  Griffin,  and 
from  the  old  associations  and  ambitions  gathered 
round  the  old  home  in  Shield  Street. 

But  it  was  wonderful  how  difficulties  solved  them- 
selves. Chrissy  had  felt  quite  remorseful  about 
leaving  her  old  friend  once  more  to  that  solitude 
whose  dreariness  Miss  Griffin  had  frankly  confessed, 
and  perhaps  even  overrated  in  her  delight  in  Chrissy's 
companionship.  What  was  Chrissy's  surprise,  when 
Mr.  Bisset,  the  bookseller,  said  to  her — 

*As  you  are  going  away,  my  wife  and  I  are 
thinking  of  rearranging  our  household.  My  wife 
thinks  that  nobody  we  could  hire  could  replace  you, 
and  she  thinks  of  taking  yoUr  place  in  the  shop. 
Miss  Miller,'  he  went  on,  looking  gravely  at  the 
young  girl  who  had  earned  his  respect  and  con- 
fidence, *  I  feel  it  will  be  best  so.  Life  is  uncertain 
with  all  of  us,  and  I,  in  particular,  am  not  a  strong 
man.     I  have  seen  distinctly,  that  if  you  had  been 


248  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

a  little  older,  and  a  little  better  off  when  your  father 
died,  you  could  have  carried  on  his  business  suc- 
cessfully, and  maintained  your  entire  independence. 
Why  should  not  I  train  my  little  wife,  so  that  she 
could  do  likewise  if  I  was  taken  from  her  ?  Until  I 
saw  this  escape  from  my  anxiety  about  her,  I  have 
never  ventured  to  own  how  much  my  concern  for 
her  possible  future  has  weighed  me  down.  If  I  am 
relieved  from  foreboding  on  that  score,  I  believe  it 
will  do  more  to  lengthen  my  life  than  anything 
else  could.  But  we  must  have  some  thoroughly 
trustworthy  person,  above  the  rank  of  a  servant,  to 
look  after  house  matters  and  domestic  comfort  in 
Mrs.  Bisset's  stead.  And  neither  I  nor  my  wife 
has  any  available  aunt  or  cousin.' 

And  Chrissy  joyfully  suggested  Miss  Griffin  ;  and 
after  the  Bissets  and  the  good  old  maid  had  mutually 
said  that  the  arrangement  was  too  good  to  be  true, 
it  was  finally  made. 

As  for  Helen,  a  new  plan  was  formed  for  her  life 
about  this  time,  with  which,  however,  Chrissy  and 
her  movements  had  nothing  to  do.  Aunt  Daffy 
had  a  slight  shock  of  paralysis,  —  nothing  which 
endangered  her  life,  or  even  seriously  affected  her 
comfort,  but  quite  sufficient  to  shake  her  nerves 
severely,  and  make  her  dread  her  isolated  position, 
and  long  for  something  more  than  the  careless 
attentions  of  the  temporary  hirelings  of  her  kitchen. 


WHERE  THE  SERMON  ENDED.         249 

She  invited  Helen  to  take  up  her  abode  with  her,  no 
longer  making  it  a  secret  that  if  the  girl  'showed  her 
good  sense/  and  devoted  her  time  to  her  till  the  end, 
she  would  find  it  had  been  *  worth  her  while.'  Aunt 
Daffy  did  not  ask  or  expect  love  or  duty,  and  Helen 
did  not  shrink  from  the  thought  of  rendering  such 
service  without  them. 

*  Aunt  Daffy  will  live  for  ever ;  those  chronic 
cases  always  do  ;  it  means  that  I  shall  give  up  all 
thought  of  marriage,'  she  said  drearily.  '  Well,  if  I 
stay  in  Madame  Vinet's  showroom,  nobody  whom 
I  should  care  to  marry  would  be  likely  to  give  me 
the  chance.  So  it  comes  to  the  same  thing  either 
way,  only  by  taking  Aunt  Daffy's  offer,  I  shall  have 
ease  and  comfort  and  a  secure  provision.  And  if  a 
woman  has  these  things,  she  hasn't  very  much  reason 
to  wish  to  marry.  Marriage  cannot  give  her  more. 
It  is  not  likely  to  give  you  so  much,  poor  Chrissy.  I 
expect  you  will  be  a  hard -worked  slave  to  the  end. 
I  always  said  that  no  good  would  come  of  my  father's 
taking  in  that  Hans  Krinken,' 

Despite  these  dismal  auguries,  Helen  intended  to 
be  at  her  sister's  wedding.  *  It  is  a  good  chance  for 
getting  Aunt  Kezia  to  give  me  a  new  silk  dress,' 
she  said.  And  as  she  did  get  this  silk  dress,  it  is 
possible  that  she  was  not  too  much  disappointed 
when,  on  the  marriage  day.  Aunt  Kezia  suddenly 
fancied  herself  rather  worse,  and  forbade  hcK  niece 


250  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION, 

to  leave  her.  *  It  will  be  a  little  awkward  if  she 
wants  to  shut  me  up  entirely,'  Helen  mused,  as  she 
folded  away  her  finery  ;  *  but  if  I  manage  prudently, 
I'll  get  the  upper  hand  of  her  by-and-by,' 

And  so  Hans  and  Chrissy  were  quietly  married  in 
the  Church  of  St.  Cecilia-in-the-Garden,  with  Dr. 
Julius  to  give  away  the  bride,  and  Mr.  Bilderdyk 
and  Miss  Griffin  for  witnesses,  and  the  Bissets  for 
wedding  guests.  It  was  a  very  quiet  wedding,  of 
which  few  of  the  neighbours  were  much  aware,  most 
of  them  being  much  more  interested  in  another 
event  taking  place  in  Shield  Street  at  the  very  same 
hour — to  wit,  the  removal  of  the  Ackroyd  family 
from  their  old  house  to  a  grand  mansion  near  the 
West  End  parks — Mr.  Ackroyd  having  had  a  run  of 
luck  in  speculation  ever  since  the  smash  of  the  Great 
Metropolitan  Bank,  and  more  especially  since  his 
son's  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  a  stockbroker's 
office. 

Chrissy — now  Chrissy  Krinken — went  up  to  her 
Aunt  Daffy's  house  to  say  good-bye  to  her  aunt  and 
sister  there.  And  Chrissy  felt  that  the  sadness  and 
the  parting  were  not  in  the  going  away — not  in  the 
thousands  of  miles  which  would  divide  them — but  in 
the  great  gulf  which  yawned  between  them,  as  they 
stood  hand  in  hand.  Chrissy  even  hoped  forlornly,  ^ 
that  the  silent  thoughts  which  grow  in  separation! 
might  somehow  bridge  that  gulf 


WHERE  THE  SERMON  ENDED.         251 

One  visit  to  the  father's  lonely  grave,  one  look  at 
the  tiny  granite  cross  which  now  marked  it  possibly 
for  some  reverent  pilgrimage  to  be  made  by  Chrissy's 
unborn  children  or  those  children's  children — and 
then  the  last  day  came,  and  there  was  the  crowded 
dock  once  more,  and  the  little  group  of  kindly 
kenned  faces,  half- tearful,  half-smiling.  One  face 
which  Chrissy  would  have  liked  to  have  seen  at 
the  very  last  was  amissing,  and  many  were  the 
kind  messages  for  poor  Esther  Gray,  with  which 
Miss  Griffin  was  charged  by  the  happy  young  wife. 
For  a  terrible  epidemic  was  lurking  just  then  in 
the  by-ways  of  London  life,  and  Esther  could  not 
be  spared  from  her  labours  in  the  sad  lazar-house, 
even  if  it  would  have  been  safe  for  her  to  risk  bring- 
ing infection  into  the  spheres  of  health  and  joy. 

Then  the  good  ship  moved  off  with  her  precious 
cargo  of  new  life  for  a  new  land.  And  at  last,  waving 
handkerchief  and  hand  faded  indistinct  and  disap- 
peared, and  the  young  pair  sat  side  by  side,  in  the 
first  sacred  solitude  of  a  double  existence. 

The  crowded  deck,  the  river  banks,  familiar  to 
Chrissy  from  her  earliest  childhood,  floated  unseen 
before  her  eyes.  Her  heart  was  busy  with  those  she 
had  left  behind.  She  could  fancy  what  they  were 
doing.  She  could  hear  the  tones  of  their  voices  as 
they  spoke  of  missing  her. 

But  in   reality  there  was  one   picture   she   could 


252  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

not  see — one  scene  her  fancy  could  never  have  filled 
up. 

In  a  darkened  room,  in  the  awful  abode  of  terrible 
suffering  and  death,  sat  Esther  Gray,  watching  by 
the  side  of  one  who  would  be  soon  past  all  human 
help.  In  that  shadowy  room  she  could  not  see  his 
face,  even  if  it  had  not  been  marred  beyond  all 
recognition  by  the  ravages  of  disease.  There  was 
no  name  or  description  on  the  doctor's  memorandum 
at  the  head  of  the  bed  ;  only  the  note,  '  Brought  in 
from  a  common  lodging-house — unknown — name 
refused.'  It  was  one  of  the  worst  cases  that  had 
ever  been  in  the  hospital,  and  therefore  it  fell  to  the 
share  of  Esther  Gray. 

The  agonies  would  be  soon  over  now.  Speech 
might  return  for  a  little,  just  at  the  last;  and  Esther 
Gray  sat  ready  for  some  sign  which  might  comfort 
sore  hearts  somewhere.     The  hoarse  question  came — 

*  Sure  to  die  ? ' 

'  You  are  in  God's  hands,'  whispered  the  nurse. 
The  poor  head  was  shaken. 

*  I  had  just  begun  to  be  better,  and  then  this 
stopped  me.' 

'Nay,  nay,'  said  Esther  Gray.  *  It  did  not  stop 
the  dying  thief  from  being  better,  when  Christ  Jesus 
took  him  out  of  the  world  at  the  same  time  as 
Himself.' 

*I    didn't   expect   to   be   worth    much;    only    I'd 


WHERE  THE  SERMON  ENDED.         253 

stopped  drinking,  and  got  work.  But  I'm  not  fit  for 
heaven.' 

'You're  fit  to  be  where  Jesus  is — why,  God  Him- 
self is  with  you  now — here,'  said  Esther. 

'You  think  so,  because  you  have  been  always  a 
good  woman  yourself.' 

*  I  know  it,  because  I  have  been  a  great  sinner — a 
greater  sinner  than  it  is  likely  you  have  been  ;  and 
yet  God  has  forgiven  me,  and  even  lets  me  work  for 
Him.  Our  Brother  Jesus  will  never  turn  us  away. 
Our  Father  cares  for  us  all  the  while,  even  while  we 
are  with  the  swine  and  the  husks,' 

'You  don't  know  what  I  have  sinned  against — 
what  I  have  thrown  away.' 

'God  does,  and  He  can  put  all  the  sins  away,  as 
far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west.  We  can't  forget 
them  ourselves,  but  He  can.' 

'  If  I  got  better,  I  can  hardly  believe  of  myself 
that  I  should  keep  on  trying  to  be  straight' 

'  Never  mind  that,  if  God  believes  it.' 

*  Do  you  believe  I  should  go  on  to  do  well  ? ' 
One  moment's  pause.     But  it  only  served  to  give 

emphasis  to  Esther's  solemn —  ~ 

'  I  do.' 

'  That  makes  it  easier  to  believe  that  God  does.' 

That  whisper  came  very  low;  and  there  was  a 
brief  silence. 

'  Oh,   sir ! '    said   Esther,  '  for   I'm    sure  you're  a 


254  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

gentleman,  is  there  nobody  to  whom  you  should  send 
a  message?     We  don't  even  know  your  name  here.' 

Again  the  dying  man  shook  his  head. 

'  No,'  he  whispered  ;  *  it  is  too  late  to  see  them 
now — too  late  to  show  them  all  I  mean  ;  and  if  I 
sent  them  any  message,  they  would  find  out  all  about 
the  last  few  months,  and  their  hearts  would  break 
with  sorrow  and  shame.  By  the  last  they  heard  of 
me,  they  will  think  I  have  gone  abroad,  and  they 
will  hope  for  the  best  for  me.  Father  and  mother 
are  growing  old — it  can't  be  long  before  they  die — 
and  then — ^perhaps — it  may  give  them  a  pleasant — 
surprise  to  meet  me.' 

He  turned  his  face  on  the  pillow. 

'  I  don't  think  you're  right,  sir,'  said  Esther  gently. 
'  I  can  see  your  point  of  view,  but  I  can  feel  theirs. 
And  I'm  sure  you're  not  right.' 

'  Ah,  poor  father  and  mother,'  he  said.  '  Yes — 
but  then  my  brothers  and  sisters,  I  mustn't  disgrace 
and  hurt  them.' 

'Can't  we  think  of  anyway  to  send  some  kind 
message  ?  '  mused  Esther. 

Oh,  she  knew  how  she  had  longed  for  any  sign,  any 
single  word  to  break  the  awful  doubt,  the  frozen  fear, 
in  which  the  fierce  passion  of  her  own  life  had  ended  ! 

'  You  could  do  it,'  he  said  brokenly. 

'  Tell  me  what  I  could  do,'  she  asked. 

'  You  could  write  a  slip  of  paper  so  that  those  at 


WHERE  THE  SERMON  ENDED.         255 

home  should  not  know  where  it  came  fro;n.  Will 
you  do  it? ' 

*  Yes,'  said  Esther,  *  but  you  must  tell  me  what  to 
say.' 

'  Say  only,  "  Harold  is  dead.  He  told  me  to  send 
his  father  and  mother  this  word,  and  to  ask  them  to 
see  what  the  prodigal  son  said  to  his  father,  and 
what  the  father  answered.  And  to  tell  them  Harold 
had  a  good  friend  at  the  last."  Write  that,  and  send 
it  directly  I  am  gone.     And  they'll  thank  God  for  it.' 

'  I  will,'  said  Esther.     '  But  where  am  I  to  send  it  ? ' 

'To  the  Vicar  of  St.  Magnus,  Manchester,'  he 
murmured  after  a  pause. 

Esther  wrote  it  down.  The  name  '  Harold  '  had 
never  impressed  her.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
the  vicar  could  be  the  young  man's  own  father. 
She  thought  he  was  probably  a  stray  sheep  of  the 
flock,  and  that  the  vicar  was  chosen  as  a  fit  person 
to  break  the  blow  to  the  bereaved  parents. 

It  was  not  long  before  word  went  down  to  the 
hospital  office  that  No.  52  was  dead,  and  that 
evening,  while  the  sunset  was  still  red,  the  strange 
quiet  nurse,  Esther  Gray,  asked  for  an  hour's  leave 
of  absence.  She  spent  it  in  a  walk  to  the  General 
Post  Office. 

Hans  and  Chrissy  sat  on  deck  and  watched  that 
same  glorious  sunset.     Said  Chrissy  suddenly — 


256  EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

'  All  this  afternoon  I  have  been  thinking  of  the 
clergyman  who  preached  in  St.  Cecilia's  the  night 
before  my  father  died.  I  owe  a  great  deal  to  that 
sermon.' 

'You  have  often  told  me  about  it,'  answered  Hans. 

'  And  I  have  been  thinking  over  all  that  has  hap- 
pened   since  then,'  Chrissy  went  on,  '  and  noticing' 
how  little  things  grow  into  unexpected  importance,' 
and  how  one  action  or  incident  develops  into  quite ' 
unforeseen  results.     And  I  see  plainly  enough,  that  \ 
to  do  each  little  bit  of  duty  that  comes  before  us,  / 
and  to  choose  what  seems  right  in  every  tiny  choice  , 
we  have  to  make,  is  the  only  way  by  which  we  can 
hope  to  be  "  Equal  to  the  Occasion "  in  the  great  ' 
events  of  life.' 

'  Amen,'  said  Hans  heartily. 


-^^M) 


Morrison  and  Gihh,  Ffft-thtirgh, 
Printers  to  Her  Majesty's  Stationery  Offict, 


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